


The Ghost of Seheron

by The_Real_Fenris



Series: Magister Rising [2]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Bromance, Dragon Age II Spoilers, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Innuendo, Kidnapping, M/M, Original Character(s), Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slavery, Tevinter, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-07 20:45:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4277346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Real_Fenris/pseuds/The_Real_Fenris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Determined to wipe out the black market in Tevinter, Magister Dorian Pavus hires Bull’s Chargers to hunt down underground slavers. When the mercenaries arrive, however, Dorian is surprised by the Chargers’ new lieutenant: a slave he once owned by the name of Fenris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Glorious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "To be a magister in Tevinter is to be glorious.” - Fenris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to "The Stars Over Tevinter". If you haven't read that one, I've written this so it's pretty much a stand-alone, so you should be able to follow along.
> 
> To all the lovelies who followed along with "Stars", I am super excited to share this story with you! Now that we have the old mage-hating, angry, brooding Fenris back, things will be interesting when he returns.
> 
> As always, comments, kudos and criticisms are welcome!

_9:42 Dragon Matrinalis_

The end of summer in Minrathous was so unbearably hot that year that Dorian Pavus almost missed the freezing winter he’d passed at Skyhold.

Almost.

Fortunately, the quarters he shared with his bodyguard were kept at a comfortable temperature year round by magic – one advantage of living in what practically served as a dormitory for underprivileged students at the Circle of Magi. And also somewhat fitting, since the purpose of Dorian’s return to the capital was to complete his studies to finally become a fully-ranked senior enchanter.

Even more fortunately, Dorian’s dear friend, Varian Prasinus, a senior enchanter who taught at the Circle and lived two floors up, was able to borrow books from Arcanist Hall, thus saving Dorian the discomfort of having to trudge through the heat. Also, Dorian didn’t particularly like studying there. Most of the students were half his age – their shiny young faces and enthusiasm made him feel old. Not to mention that the head librarian was a Tranquil. Being around a mage who had been made Tranquil always made Dorian’s skin crawl.

Thus, Dorian spent most of his days sitting at the kitchen table, poring over a stack of tomes on advanced magic. Which meant that they were written by scholars: academically pedantic, and reading them was about as much fun as having, say, an archdemon trying to set his ass on fire.

He tried to focus on the words before him. _By warping the Veil, it has been suggested that, given enough power, in order to create a radical reconceptualization of reality without distorting the fabric of time beyond all recognition, and without resorting to nullification of the directive of the prima materia as previously defined..._

On second thought, the archdemon had been _more_ fun.

He looked up from his book to the man on the divan. “Cremisius? If you’ve finished that letter... why don’t you make us some tea?”

Krem set the letter aside. He’d read it twice already. “Sure thing, Chief.”

As Krem puttered about in the kitchen, Dorian returned his attention to the book again. Maker, it was so dull... Dorian was convinced that the author had just tossed in all the big words he knew without any regard for their actual _meaning._

Turning, he regarded his bodyguard. “So!” he chirped. “Any interesting news from Bull?”

Krem made a vague gesture with the spoon in his hand. “He’s no longer seeing that waitress. You know, the one with the red hair. Guess she caught him messing around with one of Cullen’s soldiers.”

Given the Qunari’s sexual appetite, that wasn’t entirely surprising. “Ah. Anything else?”

“He said that Fenris sometimes drinks with the Chargers. And that the elf’s working for the Inquisitor now, as a body double.”

That was news to Dorian. Although Varric had been keeping Dorian updated about Fenris since Varric had whisked the elf away from Nessum three months ago, it had been a while since Dorian had received a letter from him.

Strangely, Dorian still missed having Fenris as his slave. This despite the fact that he’d hired a serving girl to come clean their rooms and take care of the laundry, so their basic needs were met. And despite how that pretty ass elf had been a constant source of sexual temptation.

Still, Krem had become friends with Fenris, so the elf’s absence was a bit harder for him.

“Well,” Dorian said. “Given how much they look alike, that does make sense.”

Briefly, Dorian thought that Krem would say more, but the ex-soldier just returned his attention to the tea.

That was unfortunate, as it meant that Dorian had to return to his studies. At least until Krem set the glasses before him so he could cast a little cold spell to chill them.

Krem sank down in one of the chairs next to his. “Dorian?” he said. “I want you to do it.”

Dorian, hunched over his book, was distracted by a particularly pedantic snarl of text. Offhandedly, he asked, “Do what, Cremisius?”

“Change my body.”

That had come out of the blue, catching him unawares. Dorian stared down at his book for a moment before he closed it, now giving Krem his full attention. “Are you absolutely sure that this is what you want?”

Krem gave a lilting shrug. “I’ve had enough time to think about it.”

Dorian’s fingers traced absentmindedly along the edges of his book, a hint of a smile hovering below his perfectly-waxed mustache. _“That’s_ true.”

“Course that’s on the condition that you actually remember the spell.”

Dorian hummed thoughtfully. Then he reached into an inner pocket to withdraw a folded-up piece of parchment, which he set gently down on the table between them.

The enchanter smiled.

 _He’s been carrying that spell around with him for months_ , Krem realized. And not just among his other papers, but actually on his body. Krem almost laughed at that. Instead, he returned Dorian’s smile with one of his own.

He then had a thought. “You know, Chief – you never did say – will it hurt?”

“Ah. Well, it may feel a bit tingly,” Dorian said. Then his smile turned into a knowing smirk. “Though, after, if you’d like, I can make something _else_ of yours feel all tingly.”

“I’m starting to change my mind now, Chief.”

Dorian raised his hands. “Okay, okay,” he said. “In all seriousness, this sort of spell will not be... pleasant. Especially given the amount of changes we’d be making.” Dorian paused, his expression solemn. “Perhaps it would be better if I put you to sleep first?”

Krem considered that. As if he _needed_ more magic cast upon him... but he trusted Dorian implicitly. “I suppose that would be okay.”

Dorian smiled. “Think on it, Cremisius. If I put you to sleep, you won’t feel a thing. And, then, when you wake up, you’ll be a whole new man.”

***

_9:43 Dragon Parvulis_

Dorian Pavus, having passed the test with flying colors, became a senior enchanter at the Circle of Minrathous at the tender age of thirty-three.

Being out on his own and encountering other mages had spared him some time studying old tomes in Arcanist Hall. In his travels, he’d acquired some esoteric knowledge and a deeper understanding of the mechanics of his craft. Much of which he’d gleaned from the various other mages in the Inquisition – Solas in particular. Dorian probably knew more about shape-shifting, hedge magic, Orlesian Circle spells, and the Fade than Varian did.

Despite Dorian’s not recommending it, Varian still hadn’t forgiven him yet for physically venturing into the Fade.

Both his parents had come to witness the traditional ceremony in which their only son, as a newly-appointed senior enchanter, was presented in the Argent Spire to the Black Divine. There, Dorian had thought he’d glimpsed tears of pride in his father’s eyes, and he felt himself going all soft and squishy inside.

Thus, his parents, other relatives, his friends, and half the Circle teachers congregated in the Wyvern’s Blood Cafe in Vivazzi Plaza that evening to celebrate.

Dorian’s achievement had drawn quite a crowd, so Dorian, drink in hand, slowly worked his way through it, allowing everyone to congratulate him, Krem close by his side.

Krem hated crowds. He had to remain extra vigilant. How easy it would be for someone to stick a knife in-between Dorian’s ribs. Many had tried – though, despite rumors about the culprits, they still didn’t know who was behind the attacks.

Dorian, having just dispatched one of his well-wishers – his _altus_ friend Calix – to fetch him a fresh drink, turned to his bodyguard with a coy smile. “Cremisius, if you’re going to spend all night on top of me, I’d prefer it if we were wearing less clothing.”

Krem sniggered. “Keep dreaming, Chief.”

One unfortunate side effect of Dorian’s spell – one which Krem should have anticipated, but for some reason hadn’t – was that Dorian had developed the hots for him. Which had made things somewhat awkward between them for a while. At least until Krem had threatened to sever any wandering fingers, and Dorian eventually managed to turn his flirting down a notch. Nowadays, Dorian usually only flirted with him when he was drunk.

It really shouldn’t have surprised him. Krem had been handsome before, but the way Dorian had altered his bone structure, he was now borderline beautiful. Funny what a strong jawline and some killer cheekbones could do.

Still, when Krem looked in the mirror, he _liked_ what he saw.

Then, in the crowd, a familiar, high-pitched whistle.

Turning towards the sound, they spotted Isabela, forcing her way across the room. Despite the lingering Tevinter heat, she wore a tri-cornered cap fit for a pirate captain, below which her long dark hair was loose, and a long frock coat elaborately adorned with gold braid and buttons.

Upon reaching them, she threw her arms around Krem’s shoulders, leaping up to hook her legs around his waist. Krem staggered a little under her sudden weight, but then wrapped his arms about her as she leaned down to give him a deep, passionate kiss.

More than a bit envious, Dorian protested. “Maker, get a room!”

Isabela finished her business with Krem’s mouth, then released him, sliding gracefully down to the floor. She gave him a saucy smile. “If you have time later and want to come down, my ship’s here in port.”

“That’s an offer that’s hard to refuse,” Krem said, his eyes alight. “But... how did you even know where to find us?”

“Are you joking? It’s enough that I have ears. _Everyone_ in the streets is talking about the new grand Senior Enchanter Pavus,” she said. She lifted an eyebrow at Dorian. “Were you not aware that you’re famous?”

Dorian smiled slyly. “Achieving the rank of senior enchanter _is_ rather rare,” he admitted. “Not to mention the fact that I’m rather young for the title. And so handsome.”

Krem snickered. “Wasn’t Varian only twenty-eight when he became one?”

Dorian made a noise of disdain. “Shut up, Cremisius.”

Calix returned with Dorian’s drink. But before Dorian could accept it, Isabela had plucked it out of his hand and downed half its contents. “Thanks,” she said, giving the _altus_ a wink. “I can’t even begin to describe how much I needed that.”

Calix glanced at Dorian. Dorian shrugged. With a sigh, Calix headed back to the bar.

“So!” Dorian said. “What brings our favorite pirate wench to Minrathous, anyway?”

“Just a bit of business. Nothing that would interest you, I’m sure,” Isabela said, toying with her glass. “Although... what might interest you is that I’ve seen a certain pretty elf acquaintance of ours recently. In Starkhaven.”

Krem cocked his head. “You’ve seen Fenris?”

Between Varric and Bull, Dorian and Krem had been kept up-to-date on Fenris. He’d stayed at Skyhold for about six months, working for the Inquisitor, but then he’d left. So, for nearly a year, there had been no news of him.

“He’s been living by the sword. Doing odd jobs, mostly,” she revealed. “I did try to convince him to join my crew, but...” she shrugged “...he wasn’t interested in coming back to Tevinter.”

Dorian had questions about his ex-slave. But when he saw a certain man across the room, he forgot all about them.

Dorian almost didn’t recognize him at first. It had been at least seven years since they’d last seen each other in Asariel.

Cole’s voice echoed in his head: _Skin tan like fine whiskey, cheekbones shaded, lips curl when he smiles._

Rilienus of House Telarius. Felix’s cousin, on his mother’s side. The only man, other than the Inquisitor, that Dorian had ever fallen in love with.

Cole again: _He would have said yes._

Behind him, Krem, though determined to protect him, was distracted by the Rivaini pirate in the tight frock coat who was plundering his mouth again. Thus Dorian was actually able to slip partway through the crowd as the man with the tan skin moved towards him.

Dorian greeted him with a smile. “Rilienus Telarius! It’s been a long time. What are you doing here?”

His lips curled. Full lips, well-shaped mouth. Two years older than Dorian. Grayish-green eyes that flashed with intelligence, and hair raven-black, which he still wore in waves past his shoulders, and looked so soft that it had always made Dorian’s fingers ache to touch it. And, really, that aristocratic profile would have been perfect in marble.

Flames, he was so beautiful, Dorian could hardly breathe.

“I’m surprised you remember me, Dorian,” he said, in a voice that was pure, deep ocean of seduction. “But when I heard the news, I wanted to come congratulate you.”

“Most kind of you.”

Darkness flickered across the man’s expression. “I’m sorry about Felix.”

Strange how much that still hurt. Felix’s death had hit Dorian harder than he’d ever admitted to anyone. “He was your family,” Dorian pointed out, as lightly as he could. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to _you_?”

“Felix and I were never really that close,” Rilienus said. “Not like you two were.”

Dorian smiled, determined to keep pretending that it didn’t _hurt._ “Ah, yes, I do recall some boyish hijinks at the Alexius house.”

“I should thank you, as well, for convincing the Inquisitor to be lenient in regards to my uncle.”

That gave Dorian pause. Is _that_ what Alexius’ family thought? That Dorian had been the one to convince the Inquisitor to spare his old mentor? No, that was all on Lavellan, who, for a Dalish hunter, was terrible at killing things in cold blood. Instead of execution, he’d _conscripted_ Alexius. The last Dorian had heard, the ex-magister was still at Skyhold, researching magic under the Inquisition’s thumb.

Dorian didn’t know the nature of Alexius’ research – the Inquisitor had never told him, and Dorian had never been able to bring himself to speak to Alexius after the events at Redcliff.

“No need to thank me,” Dorian mumbled. “Really.” He cleared his throat and decided to change the subject. “You’re still in Asariel?”

“No, I live in Minrathous now. With my wife.”

 _Wife...? Oh._ “You’re... married?”

There was something tight now in the curve of those lips. “Family duty. You know how it is.”

By his tone, it was obviously not a _happy_ marriage.

Maker... well, that made _something_ rather clear about Rilienus’ preferences.

Those gray-green eyes delved into Dorian’s for a moment, then Rilienus cleared his own throat. “Well. All these people are here for you. I should stop stealing all your time. As I said, I just wanted to congratulate you.”

With another smile and a nod, Rilienus turned to walk away.

 _I still want that man..._ Dorian thought. _But he’s married..._

_He would have said yes._

Dorian decided that he didn’t care about the fact that the man was married.

Reaching out, he stopped Rilienus with a hand on the man’s arm. When Rilienus turned to look at him inquisitively, Dorian smiled wickedly.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Dorian murmured in a low, sultry voice. “I’m not going to let you get away from me so easily this time.”

***

_9:44 Dragon Cassus_

Dorian huffed a lock of dark hair out of his eyes. “Stop squirming,” he admonished. “Unless you _like_ ink all over the bedclothes.”

Rilienus laughed softly. Dorian had come up with the brilliant idea of using Rilienus’ naked body as his own personal writing desk, and was now penning a reply to a letter. “It tickles when you write.”

Dorian playfully traced his lover’s spine with the feather end of his quill. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Yes, Magister Pavus.”

Dorian made a noise that was half-laugh, half-snort, somewhere in his throat, then returned to the task at hand.

Even after a year, it was still hard to believe that he was a magister.

Even harder to believe that it had been over a year that he and Rilienus had been meeting in secret at the Veilfire Inn, an upscale hotel reputed for their discretion, any time Dorian returned to Minrathous and Rilienus’ schedule permitted.

Given their situation – Dorian a prominent magister, Rilienus married, their both being men – it could only ever be a bit of fun. Dorian tried to keep his heart at a distance, to not wish for more.

Rilienus was leaning on his elbows. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched Dorian. In the past year, Dorian had let the front of his hair grow longer. He still wore it elaborately slicked up and back, but now, post-tumble, it fell sexily down into his eyes. “What are you writing, anyway?”

“Just a short confirmation.”

Curious, Rilienus picked up the original letter from the bed. When Dorian didn’t protest, he read it – though it took him a while, as he wasn’t as fluent as Dorian in the King’s Tongue.

Setting down the letter, he looked at Dorian over his shoulder again. “You’ve hired a mercenary company to track down rogue slavers?” He paused, looking amused. “And they have names such as Dalish, Ghost, Skinner and Grim?”

Most of the names were familiar. Dorian had met them at Skyhold, except for this “Ghost” character who’d eventually been hired to replace Krem as Lieutenant of Bull’s Chargers. “That’s the Iron Bull for you. He loves his nicknames.”

“The slavers, Dorian?”

“Oh, that. Well, you know the new regulations on slave documentation?”

“You mean the legislation you wrote?”

“Yes, that. And you know the new laws granting slaves more rights?”

Rilienus looked amused again. “You mean the laws you spearheaded?”

“Yes, those,” Dorian said. “So now that it’s illegal to kill slaves, the only way blood mages can kill with impunity is to use undocumented slaves. Which means that there has been a surge in underground slavery – basically a bunch of bad men kidnapping people. Nasty business, that. _Someone_ needs to do something about it.”

Rilienus gave him a skeptical look. “Really, Dorian? Don’t you have enough on your plate as it is?” he asked. “Can’t you send the Templars, or something?”

Dorian had already attempted that. However, he and Gentius, the Knight-Commander of the Templars in Minrathous, didn’t get along. And, after hearing Dorian’s proposal, Gentius had seemed to enjoy lecturing Dorian about the precise duties of the Templars, which did not include hunting down slavers. This, despite Dorian’s argument that reducing the number of illegal slavers would also reduce the number of incidents of blood magic – precisely what the Templars were _supposed_ to do.

Dorian smiled. From the Inquisitor he’d learned that if something needed to be done, it was sometimes better to do it yourself. Even if it were gathering herbs on the hillside for a local healer. They’d acquired a very good agent for the Inquisition that way. “Sometimes you have to do things with more... unconventional methods.”

Still smiling, he signed the letter to Bull, then set the parchment aside to dry.

In his letter, Bull had said that he could bring his Chargers to Qarinus shortly after First Day. Krem would be pleased, no doubt, to see his old Captain again. Briefly, Dorian thought about Krem, sitting down in the lobby, waiting for him.

They would be heading home soon for the holiday. Which meant that it would be a while before he saw Rilienus again.

He decided that Krem could wait a while longer.

“Speaking of doing things...” Dorian murmured, as his hands skimmed up his lover’s sides, rolling him so that Rilienus was beneath him. “Isn’t there something you and I should be doing? Other than talking, I mean.”

Lips curved up in a teasing smile as he threw his arms around Dorian’s shoulders. “Yes, Magister Pavus.”

 


	2. Bull's Chargers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Iron Bull and his Chargers arrive in Qarinus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, if you were waiting for Fenris to come back... here he is!

_9:45 Dragon Verimensis_

Shortly after the First Day celebrations, the Iron Bull and his Chargers arrived in Qarinus.

Dorian and his adopted heir Alexandria had been drawing pictures together in the game room when Dasio came to fetch him with the news that “a rather large Qunari” was roaring in the foyer that “the pretty ‘Vint” needed to “get his ass over here pronto.”

Alex, being nine years old, tittered at the head slave’s use of profanity.

Dorian shot Dasio a reproving look.

“Just relaying the message as instructed, Master Dorian,” the slave said dryly.

“Yes, thank you, Dasio,” Dorian said. “Please find Krem and let him know, as well.”

“Can I come, too?” Alex asked as Dorian rose. “I’ve never even seen a Qunari, except in pictures. Is he really that big?”

Dorian made a mental note to have a chat with Bull about _appropriate use of language around children._ “They’ll be staying here tonight. So maybe later, once they’ve settled in.”

Coming around the corner, all Dorian could see was Bull’s bulk. The Qunari grinned at him as he adjusted his eye-patch. “Nice digs, ‘Vint. I heard you were rich. Just didn’t realize how _filthy_.”

 _Maker, he’s started with the innuendo already._ “How else could I afford your exorbitant prices?” Dorian quipped.

“Heh. Don’t worry. You’ll get your money’s worth with the Chargers. For you, we’ll make those slavers _extra_ dead.”

Dorian wondered what “extra dead” meant in Bull terms. Then quickly decided that it would be better not to know.

“Anyway,” Bull continued. “Don’t think you met everyone in the crew before.”

Bull turned sideways, then indicated a dark-skinned human man. “This is Stitches. Fought during the Fifth Blight. But he’s a damn good healer of the herbalist variety, so he keeps us patched up.”

“Good to meet you, Lord Pavus,” he said, with a hint of Fereldan in his accent. “Never thought I’d come to Tevinter, though.”

“That makes two of us,” muttered a dark-haired elven woman with a heavy Orlesian accent.

Bull smiled. “And that’s Skinner. Don’t mind her glaring at you. Humans aren’t her thing. ‘Specially since some humans came into the alienage to test out their new weapons on some of her friends.”

“Foolish shems get what they deserve,” she grumbled.

Bull indicated the other female elf, this one blonde, her face marked with tattoos. “Then there’s Dalish. The company mage.”

“Pleasure,” Dalish said.

Bull cocked his head at her. “And... you’re not even gonna deny it?”

“We’re in Tevinter! Better to be an elf and a mage, than to just be an elf!”

“Huh. Yeah. Good point.” Bull indicated the dwarf next. “That there’s Rocky. He got himself kicked out of Orzamar for blowing shit up. Now he blows shit up for us.”

“Hey,” Rocky said amiably. “Everyone needs a hobby.”

“Then there’s Grim,” he said, indicating a blond human. “He don’t say much. Bit of a - what do you call it? An enigma.”

Grim grunted.

“Last, my lieuten– Wait. Where in the blasted Void is Ghost?”

“He stopped to talk to the elf that took our horses,” Skinner said.

“Fine time for him to turn friendly,” Bull grumbled. “’Specially since I’ve _really_ been looking forward to this.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Looking forward –?” he began, but Bull was already turning away.

The Qunari took a few steps, threw open the door, then shouted. “Ghost! Get your ass in here!”

A few moments later, Bull’s second-in-command stepped through the doorway.

Dorian was startled speechless. Then: _“Fenris?”_

The elf was still a wiry sort of slim, and muscular. The same white hair, kept a bit long – _peasant shaggy_ , in Dorian’s opinion. The same elven green eyes, though with more fine fines than Dorian remembered. And, to Dorian’s chagrin, he was still sexy as the Void. Especially in what he was wearing, which was a form fitting suit of hard black leather and silver plate armor, though, by the way it was cut, the lyrium markings on his arms, above his gauntlets, were visible.

The last time Dorian had actually seen Fenris was nearly three years ago, in Nessum, when the elf had been in his arms. Naked.

Fenris’ beautiful green eyes boldly met his for a moment, then he averted his gaze. But not in that skittish, down-to-the-floor way. Just... away.

 _“Fasta vass,”_ Dorian muttered. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

Bull chuckled at the expression on Dorian’s face. “Yeah. That’s pretty much the reaction I figured I’d get.”

Dorian glanced at Bull, swallowing a curse. There was a tradition of sorts in the Pavus house – as soon as anything became awkward in the foyer, it was time for the host to send the guests away until after dinner. Composing himself, he chirped cheerfully. “Well! You must be tired after such a long trip. You and your men can stay in the barracks.”

Dorian paused, realizing that Dasio had not yet returned with Krem, which meant that he couldn’t have the slave or his bodyguard show them the way. Then again... he looked at Fenris. “Fenris, you do remember the way to the barracks, don’t you?”

Fenris’ eyes flicked back to him. Even at his distance, Dorian could see the muscle in Fenris’ jaw as it twitched. Then Fenris spoke, in that deep, luscious voice of his, although somewhat coolly. “Of course I do.”

“Wonderful!” Dorian turned back to Bull with a gracious smile. “We’ll talk more after dinner.”

***

The barracks were located in a large stone building on the southeast side of the manor. It included a fully-functioning kitchen, shared baths for the soldiers, a separate quarter for sleeping, and even a recreational room where the men would sit around drinking and playing cards off-duty.

As they stepped into the recreational room, Bull, impressed, grunted thoughtfully.

A half dozen pairs of eyes immediately assessed them as spines straightened, and fingers automatically twitched near weapons.

Fenris’ eyes scanned over them. Krem had made him drill with the men-at-arms, so he knew most of them by face, if not by name. The man who spoke first, however, was the man who led the drills, a sword-master who went by the name of Jaco.

“You must be the Chargers,” Jaco said in perfectly fluent King's Tongue.

One of the guardsmen seated at the table glanced poignantly at the women. “All elves sleep in the slave quarters. No exceptions.”

Dalish looked surprised. Skinner glowered.

Bull crossed his arms, staring down at the man who’d spoken. His voice was low and cold. Which, the Chargers knew, meant that some bloodletting was very likely in the near future. “Dalish and Skinner are not slaves.”

“They’re still knife-ears,” someone else said. “And women.”

Bull snorted. “What? You got a problem with women?”

Jaco crossed his own arms, staring up at the Qunari. Bull kind of respected him a little for that. “We don’t have a separate sleeping area for females. You want to toss a couple of women in with a room full of rowdy soldiers, then there’s going to be trouble I don’t need.” His eyes shifted. “And that one’s Fenris. One of the house slaves. Belongs to Lord Dorian.”

Standing beside Bull, Fenris gnashed his teeth together, silently raging, as he contemplated how good it would feel to punch through Jaco’s chest and leave a gaping hole there. Only Bull’s hand falling on his shoulder kept him from acting recklessly on this impulse.

Bull’s voice had become even lower and colder. “He fights with me now as a free man. I don’t care what he was before. He could probably cut all you ‘Vints down before you could even draw your weapons.”

Someone snorted in disbelief.

“If you want to discriminate based on race, then... maybe you got a problem bunking down with a Qunari? And if so, any one of you want to settle this outside?”

Half a dozen pairs of eyes sized him up. Then one of the soldiers threw up his hands in a pacifying gesture. “Just chill out, Horns. There’s no problem. Krem’s told us all about you.”

Fenris, still quivering with rage, let his eyes sweep the room. The air was thick with hostility. It didn’t matter that they’d trained with him, or that he’d proven himself capable with a blade. In their eyes, he was merely an elf and a slave.

Bull was ready to defend every one of his Chargers, even if meant killing. Or, at the very least, knocking a few heads together. But he was surprised when Fenris heaved a sigh, and said, “Forget it. I’d rather sleep with the other elves.” His green eyes flicked back. “Dalish and Skinner should come, as well.”

Bull studied his lieutenant for a moment. He trusted the elf’s judgment, plus this was more familiar turf to Ghost than to him. “If you say so.”

“All right,” Jaco said, indicating one of his men. “Rex here can show you where you’ll be sleeping.”

As Rocky, Stitches and Grim followed one of the guardsman through a door in the back, and the elves started to shuffle off back the way they came, the door to the barracks opened, and Cremisius Aclassi stepped in.

He gave each of the women a knowing sort of nod and a quick greeting before turning his shrewd gaze on Fenris.

Fenris stared at him curiously. Krem was... _different_. The clothing he wore was tight, hiding nothing. But the way Krem’s eyes sparkled at him was familiar.

“Bastard,” he said in lieu of greeting. “You stole my job.”

Fenris cocked an eyebrow. Then his lips ticked up slightly at the corners. “It seems to me that you weren’t actually around to fulfill your duties to the Chargers.”

“Yeah, given your background, Bull probably gave you some new duties,” Krem said teasingly. “Such as feeding him grapes and rubbing his tired footsies.”

“At least the Chargers keep my skills sharp,” Fenris retorted. “When was the last time you even unsheathed your sword?”

Krem paused. Actually, it _had_ been a while... “That was a low blow, elf,” he murmured.

“You started it, human.”

Krem grinned. “Diamondback later?”

Fenris’ lips twitched again. “I’ll meet you in the game room after dinner.”

Krem nodded at them again as they slipped past him and exited the barracks.

Although the other Chargers had left the room, the Iron Bull had lingered. He leaned against the back doorway, and watched as Krem approached.

Krem’s legs were shaky. He and Dorian hadn’t told anyone down south about the spell. Not even Varric knew. Really, they’d decided, what was there to tell? A couple of parts were different now. No big deal.

Except that it actually _was_ a big deal.

Bull had helped Krem to stop hating himself, to accept his body. It hadn’t been quick, or easy, but the Qunari hadn’t given up on him.

And Krem had been grateful.

He’d dressed in the tightest-fitting clothes he owned, just so there would be no mistaking that the body below them was male. And yet now, he was apprehensive about what his old Captain would think of his change.

Still shaky, Krem shuffled up, and noticed how Bull was studying him with rapt interest. “What, Chief? You got something to say about how I look?”

Bull studied him for a moment longer. Then he smiled. “You look like the same man to me, Krem de la Krem.”

Something inside Krem instantly became soft. Even worse, he felt that prickling sensation at the corners of his eyes. _Damn bastard._

Bull pretended not to notice how Krem was about to lose it. “I saw a training yard outside. I don’t have to meet with Dorian ‘til later, though, so, if you ain’t busy, why don’t we go work up an appetite?”

“Yeah,” Krem managed. “Let’s do that.”

***

Fenris led the two elven women back into the house, and down the stairs towards the slave quarters.

Skinner’s eyes darted about. Everything was either shiny, or grand, or sculptured in some ornate fashion. “You really lived here?” she murmured in that cool voice of hers. “Much better than living in the alienage.”

Dalish’s eyes widened. “Skinner! How can you say such a thing? He was a slave!”

Skinner made a disdainful little noise. “I bet you always had plenty to eat.”

Here – yes. At Danarius’, however, things had been different. “No,” Fenris replied brusquely. “I lived here for about six months. Before that, Hadriana – my old master’s apprentice – enjoyed withholding things from me: my meals, my moments of calm, my sleep.”

The women exchanged a glance.

He narrowed his eyes at them. “And I thought we’d agreed that we weren’t going to talk about my life in slavery.”

Dalish fretted. “Are we really going to sleep with the slaves, though?”

Skinner sighed, relenting. “Well. I’d rather sleep in the slave quarters with a bunch of elves, than in the barracks among shems who would treat us as playthings.”

 _Yes – that,_ Fenris thought. With the elves, they wouldn’t have to be on edge, watching each others’ backs. At least they would be safe.

At the bottom of the stairs was a low door. They ducked under it.

The slave quarters were structured not so differently than the barracks, only there was no kitchen. A bit smaller and darker. There was a room for gathering, one for sleeping, and the slaves had their own baths, as well. Not all the elves were here – the kitchen staff, of course, was notably absent, most of the maids, and a few others.

Large eyes blinked at them.

Iona and Zephyr were the first to reach him, then the others were crowding around him, all chattering wildly in Tevene.

Fenris was taken aback. They all seemed so... _happy_ to see him. A quick glance at Skinner and Dalish revealed that they were equally uncertain how to react to the commotion. At least until Dalish noticed the tattoo trailing down the left side of Zephyr’s face.

“That one’s Dalish!”

Zephyr looked at her, then smiled. _“Aneth ara,_ traveler,” he said. “You are welcome here.”

As the two Dalish elves began to speak in a mix of the common tongue and elvish, Fenris was suddenly overwhelmed by the deluge of questions from the other slaves.

“Fenris! Are you free now?”

“Are your companions free, too?”

“Do you fight with them?”

“Where do you live?”

“Are you married now?”

“Did you really work for the Inquisition?”

“They say that the Inquisitor is an elf – what’s he like?”

“Do you really remember everything?”

This last question came in the small, sweet voice of Iona.

He held up his hands as if a gesture could silence them.

It did.

His eyes scanned their happy faces. So... _strange_. They were slaves – they shouldn’t be so happy. Maker, did they really not know any better?

Fenris found the situation confusing and depressing. Perhaps staying in the slave quarters hadn’t been a very good idea after all.

The last question was still hanging in the air. “I... yes, Iona. I remember everything.”

Iona brightened, but then her expression became sad. “Then you remember your old master. Everyone said he was a terrible man.”

Something deep in his guts was trying to claw its way out. _That would be Danarius_. He had to force the words out. “Yes. He was.”

The look Iona gave him almost broke his heart. But then she brightened again. “Have you seen Master Dorian? He must be so happy you came back. He and Mister Aclassi missed you. They spoke about you all the time.”

That clawing sensation had climbed up into his chest. _That would be Dorian_. He had to get out of here now. “Iona... find beds for my friends, please. I... there’s something I... need to do.”

Without waiting for her response, Fenris turned, ducked under the doorway, and dashed up the stairs.

***

Fenris wandered through the familiar turns and corridors of the Pavus house.

It was strange to be in this house again. Unsettling. And yet, when Bull had given him the choice, Fenris, after some internal debate, had freely agreed to come.

 _One night only,_ Fenris told himself. Most likely, the Chargers would be on the road tomorrow, heading out to fulfill the terms of Dorian’s contract. One thing Bull didn’t do while on a job, Fenris knew, was waste time.

Seeing the man who had been his master again was also strange. He wasn’t quite how Fenris remembered him. Fenris had almost expected him to be... larger, somehow. More intimidating. But, instead, he was just a man. A devilishly handsome and well-dressed man, but a man all the same.

 _No, not a man,_ he reminded himself. _A mage. Worse – a magister._

Fenris had trusted a mage once. _Once._ Garrett Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall. Who had betrayed him.

He told himself that he would never make that mistake again. Yes, Dalish was a mage – no matter how much she denied it – but she was a Charger, which meant that Fenris wouldn’t let her come to harm. But it didn’t mean he’d trust her or let her get too close.

In truth, Fenris wasn’t particularly close to any of the Chargers. Though he did get along just fine with Skinner. They’d both had a terrible past that neither wished to speak about, and they’d built a bond based on their mutual anger and hate.

Fenris slowed as he came to the library. Stopped in the doorway. The room was empty, but a familiar image floated back: Dorian, seated in his favorite armchair, a book open on his lap, beautiful gray eyes catching the light just so as he glanced up, smiling just for him.

Fenris made an involuntary whimper of dismay at the memory.

He then heard a noise – a soft shifting of fabric. From where Fenris stood, the back of one of the chairs faced him. And from around this chair, a face now peered at him.

Recognition struck them both at once.

It was Dorian’s daughter, Alexandria.

For some reason, Fenris had forgotten about the girl. But she must have come home from school for the holiday.

Alex climbed out of her chair and stood, looking at Fenris.

They’d played together nearly every single day. For Fenris, it had been a chance to experience a childhood he couldn’t remember, and they’d had fun. Mostly childish games, although Alex had also taught him to play chess, a fact which had amused Cullen later at Skyhold. At least until Fenris, a ruthless tactician, had utterly destroyed him on the board five times in a row.

She’d grown taller. Her face less round, as she’d lost some of her baby fat. As she studied Fenris, she brushed dark hair from bronze skin, her mouth grim. “He said you’d come back. But you didn’t.”

An accusation... but not directed at him. Fenris didn’t quite know what to say to that. Obviously she had been hurt when he hadn’t returned to Qarinus. “I am sorry.”

“Why didn’t you come back?” she asked. Then pouted. “Father wouldn’t tell me.”

That was... understandable. “I couldn’t come back.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s all the answer I shall give.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

Alex gaped at him. Fenris imagined that she wasn’t used to anyone saying no to her. _Like her father._ “Slaves are supposed to do what they’re told.”

Fenris bristled. At his sides, hands curled into angry fists. He growled. “I am no longer your father’s slave, _little mage_.”

At his ferocity, Alex’s eyes widened. Instinctively, her fingers twitched, magical energy crackling.

In response, Fenris stepped forward, into the room, and let his lyrium markings flare to life.

The magic in her hands sizzled out. She froze like a rabbit before a wolf, fear smeared across her face for a moment before she ran from the room.

 


	3. Sharp Metal Weapons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions at House Pavus are running rampant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Fenris in this chapter. I hope you enjoy the tension! 
> 
> Suggested drinking game: take a drink every time Fenris growls, snarls, or just quivers in silent rage, and you should pretty much be wasted by the time you reach the end of the story. LOL.
> 
> I'm enjoying your thoughts & comments, so feel free to keep them coming!

After dinner, the Iron Bull and Dorian sketched out a plan.

As his parents were currently away celebrating the holiday with relatives in Marothius, Dorian had decided that his father’s office was just as good a place as any to do business. On the desk sat two glasses of strong liquor – one much daintier than the other – among the scattered parchments containing Dorian’s notes, and a map.

“In my opinion, the best place to start would be Minrathous. After all, it is the heart of the black market.” His fingers indicated a point on the map. “My sources tell me that the best place to root out the leaders of the slave ring would be here –” he then indicated a different street “– and here.”

Bull studied the map, memorizing the locations. “And then?”

“I was thinking you could kill them,” Dorian remarked dryly, “but do feel free to festoon them with flowers and dance a quadrille in Vivazzi Plaza.”

Bull chuckled in appreciation. “Simple works for me, Boss.”

Dorian reached for his glass, making a strange face.

“Something wrong?”

“What? Oh, no, nothing,” the enchanter replied offhandedly. “It... it feels a bit weird when you call me that.”

Bull tilted his head, his left horn almost touching the ceiling. “If it makes you feel all squirmy inside, then I’ll stop.”

“No. It’s just...”

Bull filled in. “Still hung up on the Inquisitor?”

“Oh, no. No, fortunately, those feelings... well, it has been nearly three years.”

Given the way that Dorian was unable to look Bull in the eye while he fidgeted with his glass, it was pretty clear that the man still had some feelings for the Inquisitor. Faded and packed away, perhaps, but not completely laid to rest.

Still, Bull was willing to play along. “Fair.”

Dorian glanced up as Bull took a hearty swig from his own mug which, despite being the largest tankard his slave Mira could find, was still dwarfed by the Qunari’s hands. “You know...” he said curiously, “I have to admit that I’m surprised you agreed to come to Tevinter, Bull.”

Bull grinned. “I thought it would fun. Been a while since I had an opportunity to scare some ‘Vint nobles.”

Dorian laughed softly. “Yes, you would enjoy that.”

“A man’s got to take his fun where he can.”

Dorian continued to regard Bull with curiosity. “Actually, I’m more surprised that Fenris came back.” His eyes narrowed. “And someone could have mentioned that this ‘Ghost’ of yours was him _before_ you arrived.”

“I would’ve thought Varric’d told you.”

Miffed, Dorian knew that he’d be writing a very reproachful letter to his dwarven ally later. “No, he did _not.”_

Bull shrugged. “Yeah, Ghost said he’d enjoy killing Tevinter slavers. You ask me, though, I think that elf has some demons he needs to work out.”

Dorian recalled some of the stories he’d heard at parties in Minrathous about what Danarius had done to Fenris. The ones that had made him want to bathe so he could feel clean again. At the time he’d restored Fenris’ memories, he hadn’t been thinking about what the effects of remembering such atrocities would have on the slave. For the first time, he wondered if what he’d done had been a mistake.

Dorian didn’t like the idea that he was capable of making mistakes. He let that thought go. “And why do you call him ‘Ghost?’” he asked.

“Cause he kinda looks like a ghost when he does that lyrium thing.”

Well. The Qunari _did_ have a point.

Dorian studied Bull as he sipped from his glass. He stood with spine straight – practically at attention – which meant that he towered over Dorian. Maker, he was just so _big._ Bulging with muscles – most of which were visible, because, as usual, despite the chill of winter, his chest was mostly bare.

He was also uncharacteristically serious. Dorian, curious, cocked his head. “What, no flirting? We’ve been alone in the office for at least fifteen minutes.”

“This is business,” Bull explained. Then he gave Dorian a knowing leer. “But if you want to conclude the business and get to the part where I rip your robes off and take you against the wall, then I’m all for it.”

Dorian flustered. He awkwardly cleared his throat. “Well!” he said, a bit too loudly. “Back to business, then!”

***

While Dorian and Bull talked business, Krem and Fenris played cards and swapped stories in the game room.

Years ago, Krem had spent three months drawing the reticent slave out of his shell. Even so, by the time they’d reached Nessum, Fenris still heavily bore the markings of a life in slavery. Mostly, those experiences were reflected in his demeanor: quiet, shy, submissive, not quick to smile or jest, and with that skittish way he’d always stare down at the floor at the prospect of some imagined forthcoming punishment.

The Fenris before him now was completely different. His gaze was sharp and unrelenting. The way he tossed his winning cards to the table was more than confident – it was downright cocky. He no longer waited for Krem to refill his glass with whiskey – in fact, at some point, he’d decided to eschew the glass, and drank straight from the bottle. And, most interestingly of all, as he talked about his recent adventures down south, he was chattier than a washerwoman.

Krem gleaned the following about Femris’ adventures: he’d stayed at Skyhold for six months, working as the Inquisitor’s body double. Next, he wandered around most of Thedas, hiring himself out as a sellsword. Finally, about a year ago, after he’d turned down Isabela’s offer, he’d been hired to defend a Nevarran merchant from bandits on the road. While traveling, they’d been attacked and quickly overwhelmed. Fortunately, aid arrived in the form of the Chargers, who were heading the opposite way on the road from Cumberland. Bull had proceeded to get Fenris drunk on his employer’s wine and then recruited him.

“Sounds just like something the Captain would do,” Krem said wistfully. “I bet he claimed the whole cask from the merchant as ‘payment.’”

Fenris gathered the cards. “You miss the Chargers.”

Krem watched Fenris shuffle, then deal. “Yeah, I suppose,” he finally said. “Never a dull moment, anyway.”

“You could come back,” Fenris suggested quietly. “I’d... like it if you did.”

Krem hummed. “Tempting. But...”

“But?”

“I made Dorian a promise. That I’d stay by his side.”

At that, Fenris’ eyebrows rose in surprise. Then his expression shifted, and he made a small noncommittal noise.

Shit, they were getting sentimental. Krem had never done sentimental very well. Then again, neither did Isabela, which might explain why they were still seeing each other after all this time. Instead of flowers and declarations of love, Krem gave her sex and the freedom to do as she pleased, which suited both parties.

He changed his tone, now teasing. “You’d like it if I rejoined the Chargers, eh? Well, then, does that mean you missed me?”

Fenris smiled a little. Played with the bottle. Then stared at the cards in his hand, his expression growing serious.

“At first, when I arrived at Skyhold, I... there was too much in my head. All these memories. Everything all tangled together. I was angry.” Fenris paused, thinking. “So I did not allow myself to think about much beyond the present moment.” He paused again. “But... yes. I thought fondly of you, Aclassi.”

Maker, they were confessing feelings now. At this rate, they were probably going to end up making out among the roses, under the moonlight, just like in one of Varric’s romance novels. “And Dorian?”

Everything changed in a heartbeat.

Suddenly it felt as if the temperature in the room had just dropped ten degrees. A muscle in Fenris’ jaw twitched. He snorted. “That man is a magister,” he growled. “He represents everything I hate.”

Krem bristled. “You hate Dorian? _Really?_ After what he’s done for you?”

The elf grunted.

Krem made a noise of disgust. “You have a lot of nerve saying that.”

“Why?” Fenris snarled. “Because he hasn’t given in to the temptation of blood magic? You think that makes him good? It only means he hasn’t wanted something badly enough to give in. _Yet.”_

Krem realized that the fire he’d seen in Fenris as a slave was only a spark. _This_ Fenris was a bonfire of rage. “You son of a bitch.”

Fenris stiffened slightly at the insult. Then his eyes narrowed as he flicked his gaze over Krem. “I can’t believe you let that spellbind use his filthy magic to alter your body.”

Thank the Maker that Dorian wasn’t around to hear _that_ comment, or sparks would have literally flown. In his own belly, anger was dangerously sloshing. “I asked him to do it. And, in case you’ve fucking forgotten, elf, it was Dorian’s _filthy_ magic that restored your memories.”

Fenris’ voice seethed sarcasm. “Oh, yes. That’s made everything _so_ much better.”

Krem couldn’t remember that last time he’d wanted to throttle someone so badly. “Shut up.” In his voice, a threat. “Dorian’s a good man, so stop talking shit about him.”

Fenris, eyes blazing, rose to meet the threat. “And if I don’t?” he snarled. “What will you do, human?”

Krem snorted. “I’ll take you outside and kick your scrawny elven ass.”

Fenris sneered. “You can try.”

***

Dorian had just retired to his room for the night when the sound of rapid footfalls rained down the hall. _Well, that can’t be good_ , he thought, already moving to open the door.

Iona stood in the doorway. “Master Dorian! There’s fighting outside!”

He supposed that it could have been Bull. The man certainly did love his violence. But Dorian had an inkling about the combatants even before he asked. “Who’s fighting, Iona?”

“Fenris and Mister Aclassi! In the field out back.”

He’d already taken his boots off, so he sat down to pull them back on before he reached for his staff.

“Please go fetch the Iron Bull, Iona, and have him meet me outside.”

***

Bull heard the fighting long before he reached it.

Following the slave who had fetched him, he arrived to see two men in a field, at the back of the mansion, fiercely battling with swords under the moonlight. The air was filled with the clash of steel on steel, vicious blows ringing through the night.

On the nearby veranda, Dorian stood, watching the fight.

“So,” Bull rumbled as he reached Dorian’s side. “What’s this?”

Dorian gave him a quick glance, before turning his attention back to the field. “Oh, that’s how they always used to play together.”

Bull watched the fight. He’d seen both men in action before. Neither one was holding back. Not what Bull would have called _play._ More like trying to murder each other with cold, hard steel.

Glancing back at Dorian, he noted that the enchanter was leaning on his magical staff. One Bull hadn’t seen before, crowned with three curving dragon heads. Which was kind of cool. But which also wasn’t entirely reassuring. “You think we should we interfere?” he asked.

Dorian reached up, thoughtfully twirling one end of his mustache briefly before letting his hand drop. “You know, things _have_ been a little tense around here since you arrived. I assume that this is something... cathartic.”

Bull considered that. Then turned, crossing his arms over his chest, to watch the fight.

Krem had speed. A whirlwind of silver flashing in the night. He also had the advantage of being younger and stronger than his opponent. And it didn’t hurt that he’d been Army trained – his movements calculated and precise – skills which he’d honed for years with Bull.

Fenris had reflexes. He easily turned every attack that rushed towards him. To his advantage, he was also light on his feet, able to dance away and put some distance between them before darting forward again to attack. Also, it helped that, unlike Krem, he’d spent the last two years consistently using his sword in real fights.

Bull watched, and judged. “Ten royals says the elf wins.”

For Dorian, feeling confident, there was no need to even consider. “I’ll see your bet.”

They watched.

For Dorian, it was a dance. The combatants went back and forth – first Krem on the offensive, driving the elf back, then Fenris getting the upper-hand, forcing Krem to defend and retreat. And all the while, there were fierce, guttural battle cries as the clanging of metal rang across the field.

For Bull, it was like an epic training exercise. In his head, he critiqued every move, noticed every mistake, spied every opening, and was secretly impressed when one of the warriors whipped a clever move right out of his ass.

Finally, Krem lunged. Fenris sidestepped, then brought his blade up against the inside of Krem’s as if to parry. Moving like lightning, Fenris flicked his wrist, bringing his sword up before he wrapped it around Krem’s. Before Krem could disengage, Fenris flicked his wrist again, and with a jerk, he wrested the sword free from Krem’s hand.

At the same time, Fenris landed a kick, right in Krem’s midsection.

As Krem’s sword sailed through the air, Krem stumbled back with a groan, landing gracelessly on his ass on the ground.

Fenris stepped forward, sword raised as if to attack again.

Bull and Dorian tensed, ready to intervene, but then Krem, though somewhat breathless, barked an order.

“Stand down!”

Fenris froze. He looked at Krem, then at his sword, which he then deftly sheathed.

On the veranda, Dorian’s hand was still squeezing his staff, his knuckles bloodless.

“You seem a little tense, too, ‘Vint," Bull said. "Maybe it would be cathartic if you and I were to go at it.” He fixed Dorian in a smarmy stare. “I could go _all_ night long. _”_

Dorian flustered again. _Maker, why does that man always have this effect on me?_ He made a small strangled noise in his throat. “No. Just... no.”

“Your loss,” Bull said, already turning to head back towards the barracks. Then he stopped, speaking over his shoulder. “Don’t forget you owe me ten royals.”

 _Ugh._ He _hated_ losing. “Just... put it on my tab.”

“Sure thing, Boss.”

As Bull sauntered off, Krem, having staggered to his feet again, moved to retrieve his sword. Dorian remained where he was, so Fenris had to walk right past him.

Green eyes sliced across his, but the elf didn’t even slow down.

He’d taken only three more steps when Dorian’s voice hissed out sharply behind him. “You! Stop.”

Fenris stopped. His eyes blazed with indignation as he turned to face Dorian.

Dorian strode up to him, so close that their noses almost touched. Fenris instinctively jerked back a step.

Dorian’s eyes were fierce, and when he spoke, he voice was deathly quiet. “If you upset my daughter again, I will set you on fucking _fire._ I will burn you until your bones are nothing more than _ash,”_ he warned. “Do you understand me?”

Weird flutters filled Fenris’ stomach. But he kept his defiant gaze steady on Dorian’s. “Yes.”

Dorian’s eyes continued to stab into his. “Good,” Dorian finally hissed, then pushed past him, staff clacking on the stone of the veranda as he made his way back into the house.

Fenris remained still, heart hammering. It hadn’t been his _intention_ to frighten the child. At the manifestation of magic, he’d just reacted. Yet that did nothing to quell that familiar queasy feeling in his stomach – that awful mix of guilt and shame he’d feel whenever he’d disappointed his master.

 _This feeling..._ he didn’t want it. Not for the first time, he wished that Danarius was still alive so he could know the satisfaction of killing his old master with his own hands.

Krem, still slightly out of breath, stepped up to him. Gave him a questing look. “Good fight,” he ventured.

Fenris could still feel those sick flutters inside him. “I need a drink.”

Krem nodded slowly. “Good idea. Come on, then.”

Shrugging to himself, Fenris followed Krem back into the house.

***

Without any further incident, the Chargers headed out for Minrathous in the morning.

As was their habit in the winter, whenever they were in Qarinus, Dorian and Krem met in the atrium for morning coffee.

Dorian noted that Krem was more pale than usual – which was really saying something. Although, on second glance, he seemed a bit green. “You look unwell, Cremisius. Are you hungover?”

It had been a while since the redhead had overindulged in drink. “Yeah,” he admitted, “me and the elf might have polished off that bottle of Antivan Sip-Sip you had in the game room.”

Dorian made a mental note to fetch Krem some of his hangover cure before breakfast. “I’m surprised it didn’t melt your insides,” he remarked. “Does this mean that you and Fenris are friends again?”

Krem wasn’t entirely certain that the liquor _hadn’t_ melted his insides. “Yeah. I guess so.”

Dorian hummed. “I’m curious, though. What, exactly, were you fighting about that merited sharp metal weapons?”

Krem thought. Then just said, “Nothing, really. Just some manly posturing that got out of hand.”

Dorian’s gaze lingered on Krem as his fingers tapped lightly against the table. “You’re a terrible liar, Cremisius,” he finally said. “But keep your secrets. If you don’t want to tell me, I’m sure it means that I don’t really want to know.”

 


	4. The Veilfire Inn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian returns to Minrathous, with more plans to change Tevinter for the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've packed a bunch of stuff in this chapter - politics, Dorian/Krem banter, killing slavers, love, naked men... and a couple of plot twists! I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> I'm still doing my best to stick to canon. But I made up an age and a birthday for Fenris - if he remembers everything now, he'd remember that, too. 
> 
> For purposes of this story, Fenris was 16 when he received the markings, and then spent 7 years with Danarius before he escaped. (Or, if that's too underage-y for your brain, he was 18 when he did the ritual + 5 years as a slave). Which puts him around 26 years of age when he meets Hawke in 9:31 Dragon. More math from there. Whew!

A week later, Dorian Pavus, accompanied by his bodyguard, returned to Minrathous three days before the next meeting of the Magisterium.

Over dinner at the Golden Phoenix, one of the Gilded Quarter’s finest restaurants, Dorian and Varian talked animatedly about politics.

 _Three years of this,_ Krem thought. Except that there were three significant differences now. First, he now had a seat at the table when Dorian dined with his closest friends; second, he was savvy enough about Imperium politics to be able to follow the discourse; and, third, the light armor he wore was no longer southern. Instead it was thin leather and light metal, molded to his body, and enchanted to resist damage.

Strangely, he’d become accustomed to dining in the Gilded Quarter. Perhaps he _was_ getting soft in Dorian’s employ, as the elf had implied. He was also still brooding about how Fenris had managed to disarm him so easily.

“...so I have enough supporters,” Dorian was saying, “assuming I can sway the swing vote.”

Varian was smiling. “At this point, Dorian, I’d believe you could sway a hungry wyvern from making you its dinner.”

Dorian beamed at the flattery.

“But, Dorian...”

“Oh, no.” Dorian held up a wagging finger. “Don’t you dare _But, Dorian_ me.”

“Seriously, though. Giving the Templars the right to punish maleficars with the Rite of Tranquility? That’s a very bold step.”

Dorian lifted his glass, contemplating how the crystal scintillated in the light. “If I may remind you... in the laws, anything called an ‘abuse of magic’ can supposedly be punished by the Rite of Tranquility, if the Magisterium wishes to hand down that sentence. Which they rarely do, unless it’s to put some poor, weaker mages in their place. It is practically meaningless. Down south, the Templars pass judgment. In Tevinter, they are powerless dregs. Better to let the Templars here deal with any mages who wish to summon demons or perform blood sacrifices.”

Varian’s intelligent blue eyes drifted across the ceiling, hung with chandeliers laced with mage lights. Then he smiled teasingly at his friend. “Maker, Dorian. Why not just give _more_ power to the Templars?”

Dorian laughed. “Yes, well, let’s not be _too_ hasty.”

Giving the Templars more power actually sounded pretty good to Krem, but, in a country ruled by mages, _that_ was never going to happen.

“I know I have your vote, Magister Prasinus,” Dorian said lightly. “But would you like to hear my speech? There’s a paragraph at the end that isn’t quite as eloquent as I’d like it to be.”

Varian had gained his seat from the Archon himself, a few months after Dorian. Which, incidentally, made them two of the youngest members of the Magisterium. He was also a fine speaker, so Dorian’s request for help was not merely flattery.

Krem only half-listened. He’d heard most of it already, anyway.

After the senior enchanters had finished polishing Dorian’s speech, Varian ticked a finger. In an instant, a waiter was re-filling their glasses.

“So,” Varian said. “Any news of your Chargers?”

In fact, Dorian had received word from Bull this morning. “Oh, yes. They’re still here in Minrathous. Staying at some dive in the elven slums. Called the Smoke and Dagger, I believe.” Dorian drank. “Apparently, they just need to” - Dorian’s voice dropped in a fair impression of Bull - “‘clear out some more ‘Vint scum.’”

Varian laughed. “You certainly do keep strange company, Dorian.”

Dorian thought of his old friends in the Inquisition. “You don’t know the half of it.” He tossed back the rest of his drink. “Speaking of company, I’m expected elsewhere.”

Varian’s expression became cool. “Don’t tell me you’re still wasting time with that riffraff,” he said. “I still don’t know what you see in him.”

Dorian ignored his friend’s disapproving tone. “He’s rather easy on the eyes,” he said. “Not to mention that he’s nearly as well-endowed as my bodyguard.” Dorian cast a sly glance at Krem. “By the way, do tell Isabela I’m still waiting for an expression of gratitude.”

“I’ll ask her to moan louder next time, Chief.”

Dorian snorted a laugh. “No, that’s quite all right.” He glanced back at Varian. “Anyway, all right if Cremisius accompanies you home?”

Krem’s response was immediate and resolute. “No. I’m not letting you walk there by yourself.”

“It’s only a few blocks.”

Krem’s look said that he would brook no argument.

Dorian sighed. “Very well, Krem.”

***

Winter in Minrathous was milder than in Qarinus. Still, Dorian tightened his cloak about him against the chill in the air as they walked.

Eventually Krem broke the companionable silence. “So, Chief. It’s been a week and you still haven’t said anything about Fenris.”

Krem had already recounted most of what Fenris had told him. To which Dorian had listened with patient indulgence.

“True,” Dorian said. “What would you have me say, Krem? That I was happy to see him?”

“Weren’t you?”

Seeing Fenris had been quite a shock. Reflecting on it after, Dorian had been both curious and pleased. At least until his daughter had come running to him in fear. At that moment, Dorian had scarcely managed to restrain himself from finding Fenris. He’d been so angry, he was certain that he would have done something terrible to the elf.

 _Dorian Pavus – overprotective mother hen._ Nobody who knew him – including Dorian himself – would have expected that.

Still, Krem was determined to be friends with Fenris, and there was almost nothing that Dorian wouldn’t do for his henchman, so he’d remained quiet on the matter.

“He isn’t the same.”

Krem half-smiled. “You think?”

“And you really still like him? Even though he’s changed?”

The bodyguard paused. “You didn’t look beneath the surface, Chief. Fenris – he clearly wasn’t stupid. He had a sharp wit, too. And a fire inside him. So I don’t think he’s actually that different. It’s more like... before, he was just a shade of gray, and now he’s himself again in full color.”

“Why, Krem!” Dorian teased. “I’d say he’s practically prismatic.”

Krem laughed. Then, teasingly, “So, Chief. You still have the hots for him?”

Dorian thought. He was still angry with Fenris. Even so, Dorian still thought that the elf was sex on lyrium legs.

Actually, with those intensely green eyes meeting Dorian’s so boldly, and the way he’d danced – death with a blade – across the yard with Krem... well, that only made him sexier.

“Well,” Dorian admitted reluctantly. “He’s not... unattractive.”

Krem’s eyes laughed at him. “Yeah, I guess he’s all right.”

Shame, Dorian thought, that Krem didn’t have any interest in men. Or even a little bit of curiosity. Dorian would have enjoyed satisfying it.

Dorian’s gaze slid over. “So. What did he say about me, Cremisius, that prompted that epic battle?”

How adorable it was that Dorian immediately assumed that everything was about _him._ Although, in this case, it was. “Umm... he might have said something about how most magisters are evil.”

Dorian laughed. “Well, he isn’t wrong.”

They turned a corner and arrived at the Veilfire Inn.

Dorian paused outside the door. “You know, I’ve always wondered... did he say how old he was?”

That had actually come up in conversation. “Yeah. He’s thirty-nine.”

About what Dorian had thought. Six years older than he was. But, _Maker, he looks good for his age._

“Oh, and he said he’d been born the day before Wintersend.”

There was a saying down south: _A child of Wintersend / will be a true friend._

Irony, perhaps?

Inside the Veilfire, the hood of his cloak up, Dorian collected the key as Krem settled down into a dark corner of the hotel lobby to wait.

***

Ghost didn’t kill the slavers of Minrathous.

He slaughtered them.

The rest of the Chargers did their share, of course. But they lacked Ghost’s ferocity. By the time they’d defeated every man in the warehouse in Vicus Penumbra, the elf’s armor glistened with blood, his hair and face spattered red.

According to the intel Bull had collected – and his time in the _Ben-Hassrath_ had made him very good at tracking information – this was the third and last hideout in Minrathous of a slaver ring known as the Crimson Hands.

“Good job, men,” Bull boomed, as he picked his way over the dead bodies on the ground. “Now, back to the Smoke and Dagger for some celebratory drinking.”

Swords were sheathed, and bows were slung over shoulders, as knives disappeared up sleeves.

“Listen,” said Stitches, indicating a small, well-concealed door in the back of the room. From behind it, the sounds of frightened voices could be heard.

They discovered that the door was locked, but Skinner soon made short work of the lock.

Behind the door they found a small, dark room whose back wall was lined with cages. Trapped within were about a dozen elves, who started clamoring when they realized they were being rescued.

Having found a key to the cages on one of the corpses, Bull opened the doors. Rapidly professing their gratitude, the freed elves all hurried out the door.

All but one elf, anyway. Huddled in the back of one of the cages, so small they almost didn’t notice him, was an elf child.

“Wait a minute,” Bull murmured, then shouted at the departing throng. “Hey! Whose kid is this?”

One of the women slowed, turning briefly. “His mother died during the voyage. City elf. That’s all I know.”

Then she and the other elves were gone.

“Son of a bitch,” Bull grumbled. “Leaving a kid behind like this. What a bunch of assholes.”

“What do you want to do, Captain?” Stitches asked.

Fenris stood by Bull’s elbow. Seething, his voice was fierce. “We can’t just leave him here.”

Bull’s gaze swiveled to his lieutenant. “I agree. So go get him. We’ll take him with us for now, and figure out what to do with him later.”

Somewhat surprised that his Captain had actually agreed with him, Fenris raised an eyebrow, but then moved to the door of the cage. “Little one. Come out now. We’ll keep you safe.”

The child lifted his head. He was perhaps four or five years old, with hair dark as tree bark, and large green eyes. He stared at Fenris, but didn’t move, no matter how much Fenris coaxed him.

 _Kaffas!_ Fenris had been held in a cage like this once with his sister and mother, when they’d been kidnapped and forced into slavery. From Seheron they’d ridden the rough waves across the Ventosus Straits to the slave market in Minrathous. He had absolutely, positively _zero_ desire to ever be inside a slave cage again.

Drawing his breath and steeling his nerve, Fenris forced himself to crawl into the cage, reaching for the boy.

A moment later, he’d crawled back out of the cage, the child wrapped up in his cloak, small spindly arms clinging tenaciously to his neck.

“All right, Chargers,” Bull rumbled. “Let’s move out!”

***

There were many things Dorian loved about sex with Rilienus.

He loved the way Rilienus’ hair felt in-between his fingers or as it brushed his skin. He loved the way Rilienus’ mouth would yield eagerly under the pressure of his own. He loved the soft, hazy expression on his lover’s face when he was lost in pleasure. He loved the way that sometimes Rilienus would press his palms to Dorian’s, and entwine Dorian’s fingers with his own, squeezing tightly as he came. And he loved how, after, they would lie on the bed, limbs still tangled, breathless, sweaty and sated.

Eventually Dorian disentangled himself. Sat on the edge of the bed and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the nearby table.

Rilienus shifted, then moved to sit next to him. Peered at Dorian’s expression. “You look lost in thought, Dorian,” he remarked. “Is there something wrong?”

Dorian glanced at his lover. Maker’s breath, the man was gorgeous. It almost hurt just to look at him. “Well, I suppose I was just wondering where this is going. You and I, I mean. If it’s only ever going to be... a release.”

Rilienus became grave. “We’ve had this discussion before, Dorian,” he said gently. “It’s just sex. It can’t ever be more than that.”

“Ah,” Dorian said, afraid that if he said any more, it would reveal his disappointment.

Rilienus leaned forward, gray-green eyes seeking. Then he frowned. “Please don’t tell me that you’re in love with me.”

He had been once. Or at least, he’d been a sixteen-year-old boy, just taken under Alexius’ wing, when he’d met Rilienus for the first time and experienced the first crush of puppy love. Except that, even years later, those feelings hadn’t changed. Yet Dorian had never been able to bring himself to confess. Even then, he’d known that Rilienus would never be able to give him what he most desperately and secretly desired.

What Dorian desired: To have a man who didn’t just _want_ him. To have a man who loved him. Truly, profoundly and unconditionally. A man who would accept him as he was, even the prickly, sensitive parts, in all of his imperfection and perfection. A man who would give him everything: his body, his thoughts, his time and his heart. A man who would follow him to the ends of Thedas.

 _Lock your heart away, Dorian Pavus,_ he told himself. _Don’t feel. Stop looking at the bloody stars and wishing for something you can never have._

Dorian smiled, and said, with a lightness he didn’t feel, “That’s terribly presumptuous of you, Ril.”

Rilienus’ eyes continued to seek. He didn’t seem entirely convinced. “That wasn’t an answer.”

“You make love sound like something terrible.”

Silence fell.

That wasn’t an answer either. But, at the same time, it was.

“I never wanted to hurt you, Dorian,” Rilienus finally said. “Perhaps it’s better if we end this now. Before things get... complicated.”

 _They already are,_ Dorian wanted to say. And, _Maker, stop saying my name in that fatally delicious voice of yours._ “Then, what you’re saying is that you have no feelings for me at all.”

Rilienus became grim. “Honestly? I respect you, Dorian. I admire you.” He attempted a smile. “And I’m also a little bit afraid of you. Your magical power _is_ immense. I can even feel it when we’re fucking.”

Dorian’s lips curled. “That immense thing you feel when we’re fucking? That isn’t my magic, Ril.”

_Please laugh. So we can pretend that everything is normal, and that you’re not actually breaking up with me._

But, no. Rilienus didn’t laugh. “I’m sorry, Dorian. I don’t love you. And, even if I did – it wouldn’t change anything.”

 _Ouch._ Dorian had experienced stab wounds that had been less painful. Giant spider bites. Ogre fists. Dragon’s breath. “So, that’s it, then. It’s over.”

“I... think it would be for the best.”

Funny how just a few minutes ago they were sharing a moment of deepest intimacy, and now that feelings had been tossed into the mix, Rilienus had decided that they would go back to practically being strangers.

Dorian stood up, reaching for his clothes. Once he’d pulled his robes back on, he risked a glance at Rilienus, who at least had the decency to look a little unhappy.

“Since I’m dressed,” Dorian said as he tossed his cloak over his shoulders, “I suppose it only makes sense if I slip out first this time.”

***

Krem sat in his dark corner, waiting for Dorian, trying to read despite the lack of proper lighting.

At least one of them was having fun, Krem mused. It had been a few months since Isabela had come to town. Krem didn’t have time to go to brothels – at least that’s what he told himself. Seriously, though, his pirate wench – she didn’t need magic to set the bed on fire.

Fortunately, in her last letter, Isabela had mentioned something about coming to Qarinus to celebrate Wintersend. So at least he had something to look forward to.

Krem looked up as Dorian approached. Usually after one of Dorian’s trysts with Rilienus, there would be a sated smile on the enchanter’s face and a bounce in his step. This time, however, Dorian’s feet were dragging and his expression was grim.

Krem understood that there would be no more visits to the Veilfire Inn.

Krem shoved his book into the small pack he carried, meeting Dorian in the middle of the lobby. “Dorian...?”

“Let’s just go.”

Krem grunted in quiet agreement and they exited the hotel.

Outside the door, Dorian looked at Krem for guidance. Krem turned to the right, Dorian walking beside him on the left.

Krem took his job of protecting Dorian very seriously. If they traveled by foot, Krem made sure that they varied the times and their routes. Whenever possible, they took carriages – a much safer option – to and from parties. Krem did everything he could do to make Dorian’s precise whereabouts unpredictable. Dorian sometimes teased him about his _fanatical obsession,_ but Krem would do anything to keep Dorian from harm. And, except for occasional skirmishes with assassins in the street – and once at a party – Krem had managed to keep the enchanter safe.

Until now.

It was a perfectly calculated attack, and happened with lightning speed.

Dorian had only one predictable habit – his meetings with Rilienus at the Veilfire Inn whenever he arrived in Minrathous. Krem should have known it would happen here.

As they reached the edge of the building, a dagger shot out of the dark.

Krem didn’t even see it. Instead he felt just the tiniest prick of the dagger point as it pierced the skin of his throat.

His body began to grow numb. Groping for his sword, Krem only managed to pull it halfway from the scabbard before the numbness took over his entire body. Paralyzed, Krem went down. As he fell, he caught a glimpse of his attacker: a thin man in dark clothing with short blood-red hair and a strange curving scar from his forehead to his jaw, shaped like a question mark. He even glimpsed the dagger, glistening with sickly green poison in the moonlight.

His face hit the cobblestones as consciousness started to recede.

As Krem fell, three men darted out of the darkness. Before Dorian could reach for the staff on his back, two of the men had seized him, one on each arm.

That didn’t make him helpless. Shouting an angry incantation, flames appeared in both of Dorian’s hands.

Before he could let his spell fly, someone smashed him with something hard – _a shield?_ – across his back. His staff absorbed some of the blow, but he was still forced forward. As his body bent over, the third man was waiting in front of him. Cold metal slammed against his neck. Then, he heard something snap close to his ear.

At that small metallic snap, the flames in Dorian’s hands extinguished themselves.

He couldn’t call them back. Couldn’t feel the Fade. Couldn’t cast a spell.

He realized that he’d just been _collared._

Maker, he was fucked.

A hand in his hair jerked him upright. Then he was groaning as hands twisted his resisting arms behind his back, tying his wrists.

On the ground, only a few feet away, his bodyguard and best friend lay, not moving.

“Krem!” Dorian shouted, but it was the only thing he could say before a rough hand rudely shoved a dirty handkerchief into his mouth.

Dorian’s muffled cries barely echoed down the empty street as the men dragged him away.

 


	5. Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Krem are in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Warning!* The last scene in this chapter wanders into non-con territory. (The scene that begins with "Dorian struggled"). So please read at your own discretion.
> 
> We are halfway through this story now. Hope you're still enjoying it! As always, I appreciate your comments, compliments & criticisms!

Rilienus Telarius had watched as Dorian slipped out of the hotel room, closing the door behind him.

As the latch clicked shut, he released the breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

Maker, he’d just broken up with Magister Dorian Pavus. A man who was as rich, powerful, and handsome as he was wicked in bed. But he’d had to do it. He should have done it sooner. Just because Dorian had manged to defy convention by refusing outright to marry, didn’t mean that anyone could.

There was talk, of course. It was generally believed that Dorian was intimate with his bodyguard. And that he slept with his father’s slaves. And that he still frequented brothels, though no one had any evidence to back any of these claims. But he possessed enough clout that such whisperings didn’t really harm him.

Rilienus, on the other hand, was neither rich nor powerful enough to withstand such scrutiny, should word of his affair with Dorian get out. After his uncle’s disgrace, any more scandal would probably ruin him irrevocably.

_I don’t love you_ . Maker’s blood, he was such an asshole. He didn’t know why he’d felt compelled to say such a cruel thing. Or maybe... he just wished it weren’t true. 

He drank the rest of the water in the glass that Dorian had left by the bed, carefully placing his lips where Dorian’s had been only minutes before. Then he rose and dressed, stopping only to leave his key at the desk at the hotel lobby.

Dorian had already paid for the room before leaving. Of course.

Outside the door, he turned to the right.

He nearly stumbled over the body.

He might have decided that a man lying in the street, either drunk or dead, was none of his concern. But the man’s red hair caught his eye. A bit apprehensively, he knelt down to turn the man over.

 _Shit._ It was Dorian’s man-at-arms. And there was no sign of Dorian anywhere, not even when Rilienus shouted his name down the empty street.

Turning his attention back to Krem, he noted that the man was unconscious, but still breathing. Tugging on the Veil, Rilienus drew in enough Fade energy to help him focus on the body before him, seeking residual magic. Finding none, he checked over Krem’s body for wounds, and found the small trickle of blood, already drying, on Krem’s neck. Alongside it, there was a dried flaky green substance.

He tugged on the Veil again, giving himself enough strength to pick up Krem’s body and carry it back inside the inn.

“Fetch a healer now,” he snapped at the innkeeper as he laid Krem’s body down on the divan in the lobby. “One knowledgeable about poisons. And I’ll need to have a message sent right away to Magister Prasinus.”

***

Dorian didn’t know where the men who had kidnapped him were taking him.

They’d dragged him down the street. Tossed him onto the floor of a waiting carriage. A whistle, then the carriage started with a jerk. On the floor, he could feel the vibrations of the wheels turning over the cobblestones, and hear the clopping of the horses’ hooves.

He could feel their feet as they rested their boots upon his body. Still, that wasn’t as humiliating as the taste of the filthy handkerchief they’d shoved into his mouth. At some point, he did manage to use his tongue to work it out past his lips, but he remained quiet, unless they decided to stick it back in.

Even so, the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the sheer terror he felt every time he strained to touch the Fade. It was just _gone._ If his hands had been free, he probably would have clawed at the collar around his neck.

He knew what it was, of course. The Imperial Templars had them – unlike the Templars down south who possessed special abilities, in Tevinter they had to resort to other methods to nullify magic. Though, in practice, these collars were most often used by magisters to enslave other mages, to keep them from being able to spellcast.

Dorian reached out again, almost instinctively, trying to open a channel. But he was completely cut off from the Fade.  _Fuck, if this is what it’s like to be Tranquil, I would rather die._ Except that Dorian knew that it wasn’t really like being Tranquil. He didn’t understand the process entirely, but knew that being Tranquil was more than just being cut off from the Fade. The Rite branded lyrium into the mage’s brain, causing damage, the most obvious side effect being an inability to feel anything anymore. Dorian, lying helpless on the floor of a carriage, with Krem most likely dead, had so many feelings that it was a wonder he wasn’t screaming. 

After an eternity of this, the carriage pulled to a halt.

Dorian was half-lifted, half-dragged out of the carriage. Resistance was futile. The four men pulled him along as if he were a rag doll. On the way he caught glimpses – a white paved drive, marble steps, a burbling fountain decorated with dolphins, sand-colored stone walls, grand red oak doors. Then he was inside.

Down a corridor of black and white marble, lined with silent busts. A turn, another turn, then he was pushed into a room. On one side, a fireplace, magical fire burning, emitting heat. Exotic animal heads mounted on the walls. A beautiful Antivan rug upon which Dorian was rudely forced to his knees.

The men holding him withdrew. Lifting his head, Dorian looked about him.

He was in an opulent room, surrounded by seven men wearing mage robes, each carrying a staff, and each one’s face was hidden by an elaborate Orlesian mask.

A voice to his left. “Release his bonds.”

One of the thugs who had seized him moved forward, out of the shadow, knife glinting in his hand. Dorian remained still as the man grabbed his arm, then proceeded to cut through the ropes about his wrists. Once done, the man melted back into the shadow.

Remaining on his knees, Dorian rubbed at his wrists as his eyes darted between the masked men. If even one of them could sling a spell – and it was obvious that all of them could – then Dorian, collared, was no threat to them.

_What in the Void...? Who are they? Krem..._

“What do you want from me?” Dorian asked. He’d meant to sound strong, but his voice came out shaky and whispery.

One of the men, wearing a mask in the shape of a bird, responded. “Forgive our methods, Magister Pavus,” he said, in a voice dark as ink, “but we cannot allow your reforms on the abuse of magic to pass. So you will be our ‘guest’ until the assembly is over.”

They were blood mages.  _Of course._ Dorian’s gaze swept over them. No, not only blood mages, but magisters who didn’t want him to upset the apple cart. Magisters who held some power in this country, and didn’t want Tevinter to change. Which meant that they had no intention of letting him live.

With a bravado he didn’t feel, Dorian scoffed. “Gentlemen. Please don’t insult me with this farce,” he said. “If you intend to kill me, then just get on with it. No need for dramatics.”

The masks exchanged glances.

Then, to his right, a man wearing a lion half-mask spoke. “You’re correct. We have no intention of letting you live,” he said. “However, you’re such a beautiful thing. Fortunately, my colleagues have given me leave to enjoy the company of Halward Pavus’ handsome son for a while, before we use your blood in our next ritual.”

***

The Chargers hadn’t been at the Smoke and Dagger for long when a messenger arrived with a hastily penned note from Varian Prasinus.

Of course, the note had been written in Tevene. Which would have been fine, except that the only member of the Chargers fluent in Tevene was completely illiterate.

However, with the help of the partially-literate tavern girl, they were able to decode most of the message.

Dorian and Krem were in trouble. That’s all the Iron Bull needed to know. He gave his order, and the company was on the move again, this time headed to the hotel in the Gilded Quarter.

The note from Varian had been vague. As the carriages Bull had hired carried them to their destination, Fenris fretted over their fate. Though any fretting over Dorian was mostly for Krem’s sake.

Though he did hate all mages on principal, the intensity of his hate varied on a scale of _zero to Anders._ Dorian was close to zero on that scale.

The rocking of the carriage soothed the elf child on his chest. Leaving the boy behind at the Smoke and Dagger hadn’t been an option, so Fenris continued to carry him. Bull had offered to share the burden, but the boy had only clung more tenaciously to Fenris when the Qunari reached for him. So, for the moment, Fenris was stuck with him.

By the time they arrived at the Veilfire Inn, the boy was sound asleep.

Once inside, Bull spoke with the innkeeper, who must have had nerves of steel because he didn’t even bat an eye when the huge Qunari approached the desk. A moment later, Bull was leading the Chargers up the stairs to one of the rooms.

A beautiful man with long dark hair opened the door. “You must be Bull,” he said. “Varian told me he sent for you.”

“And you are?”

“Rilienus,” he said as he opened the door wider to let them in. “I’m a... friend of Dorian’s.”

The room was opulent and large, almost two rooms, with a sitting area near the door, and a bed, upon which Krem lay, at the other end.

Two people stood next to the bed. Fenris recognized the healer by her robes. The other person was Varian Prasinus.

“So,” Bull said, low and serious. “What happened?”

Varian turned to them. His eye lingered for a moment on Fenris in recognition, but he directed his remarks to Bull. “Rilienus found Cremisius unconscious on the ground. As far as we can figure, the attackers nicked him with a poisoned blade. Currently, all that’s keeping him alive is the efforts of...”

“Eremita,” the healer filled in.

“Apologies,” Varian said. “Eremita. As for Dorian... well, there was no body, so we assume that someone has taken him.”

Bull switched his gaze between the two men. “So, wait,” he said to Rilienus. “You were just passing by...?”

The two enchanters exchanged a glance. “Actually,” Rilienus said, a bit awkwardly, “Dorian and I... we were... umm...”

“Oh,  _that_ kind of friend,” Bull said. “Yeah, okay. I get it. So you and Dorian met here and got ‘friendly.’ He left first. Then, by the time you left, Krem was down and Dorian was gone.”

“Uh, yes. That’s it precisely.”

Fenris shifted the child in his arms, now intently studying the man who was Dorian’s lover. Tall, gorgeous, human, and dressed in mage robes.

Fenris decided that he hated this man immensely. On the _zero-to-Anders_ scale, probably a seven.

“And no one saw anything?” Bull asked.

“The streets were quite deserted,” Rilienus said. “We’re hoping that Cremisius will be able to tell us something... if he wakes up.”

_If._ The expression on Bull’s face mirrored how Fenris felt on hearing that.

Then Bull’s expression changed, now resigned. “The Chargers and I will go out and see if we can rustle up any witnesses.” He indicated the burden in Fenris’ arms. “We’ll leave the kid here. Chargers, move out!”

***

Dorian struggled with all his strength, roaring in protest, as the magister’s henchmen dragged him out of the room and down the corridor.

He’d decided that he didn’t care if they killed him. Being stabbed by a few thugs would be preferable to being used as a sacrifice in a blood magic ritual.

They didn’t kill him, of course. Instead they let him curse and shout. His struggles were in vain – four men were more than enough to force him down a sloping, winding corridor and finally into another room.

A hard shove sent Dorian sprawling to the ground.

It took Dorian a moment to catch his breath. Another moment to stagger to his feet, one hand desperately clawing at the collar around his neck, as he surveyed his surroundings.

The room was all bare stone, empty except for a number of shackles attached at various points to the floors, ceiling and walls.

_This is bad,_ he thought.  _So very, very bad._

As the four henchmen slipped out, the magister in the lion mask appeared in the doorway, an ebony staff topped with a light blue sphere in his hand.

For some reason, the more frightened Dorian was, the more likely he was to lash out verbally. “You know, you may want to rethink your interior decorator,” he drawled. “They could have done so much _more_ with the place.”

“Ah, there it is,” Lion Mask mocked him. “Halward’s son’s sharp little tongue.”

“Yes, and if you come too close, you may get cut.”

“I’ll take that chance,” he murmured. “For now, though... why don’t you show me what you’re hiding under those robes?”

Dorian sneered. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”

The man laughed. “Feisty. I like that.”

He raised his wand.

Instinctively, Dorian tried to cast a defensive spell, a shield to deflect the magic being hurled at him. As nothing happened, he was hit with the full force of the spell.

The magister had chosen electricity. Suddenly Dorian’s body was convulsing as the energy coursed through him.

The pain was exquisite in its terrible complexity. Every nerve ending he possessed felt like it was on fire. It encompassed him. His entire world was nothing but pain.

He couldn’t stop the screams emerging from him, ripping his throat raw.

After what seemed like an eternity of torment, the magister ceased his onslaught.

In a heartbeat, Dorian, legs useless, dropped to the floor.

For a long time, Dorian lay, body twitching, dry heaving, and tearlessly sobbing on the cold stone floor, waiting for the pain to recede. He thought he would never feel right again. That he’d been permanently damaged.

Eventually, though, the pain did retreat, leaving him as wrung out and useless as a wet, hole-filled rag.

The magister was watching him. Below his half-mask, his lips were twisted into a cruel smile. Dorian realized that the man was getting off on his pain.

Maker, he was fucked more than words could even describe.

Lion Mask watched for a few more moments before he spoke again. “I’ll tell you one more time,” he said, cold as the Frostback Mountains. “Strip.”

Dorian did not doubt that the man would willingly unleash another world of pain on him should he mouth off again. And he wasn’t quite sure that he would be able to endure it. _Anything, anything but that._ Ashamed by his own cowardice, Dorian staggered to his feet and, with clumsy, half-numb fingers, proceeded to remove his clothing.

The magister watched with lustful interest as Dorian slipped out of robes, kicked off boots and peeled off socks, then pushed down his small clothes.

“Back to the wall,” the man ordered.

Dorian, hating himself, did as he was told.

“Now, on your knees.”

As compliant as a slave, Dorian dropped to his knees, and let the man shackle him. In a moment, Dorian’s ankles were chained to the floor, legs spread apart, while his arms were chained to the wall, arms extended out to his sides, with very little slack.

With arms and legs spread, he was on full display.

Dorian had always been proud of his body, but he’d never felt this exposed in his entire life. Or so vulnerable.

He flinched as Lion Mask’s fingers traced over the muscles in his abdomen. “Such an exquisite specimen,” the man murmured. “You truly are glorious. Even better than I imagined.”

Dorian tried to twist away from the man’s touch, but the chains held him in place. Dorian made a desperate animal noise in his throat as the man twisted one of his nipples.

Soft laughter. “What delights I shall have with you before you die.”

Another animal noise as fingernails dug into his thigh, then another as fingers slid roughly up between his thighs.

_No. Maker, no. Stop._

Dorian hissed in pain as the hand between his legs squeezed roughly.

More laughter. “Don’t worry. I will fuck you. Better than that Telarius boy. That is what you like, isn’t it? To get fucked?”

Maker help him.  _Save me from his sadistic bastard._ Dorian squirmed, chains rattling, as the man continued to touch his body.  _Rilienus... Cremisius... Maker...._

Then the man withdrew. Relief was brief, because then the man was reaching under his own robes, withdrawing his member, which he proceeded to stroke with purpose. 

Dorian tried not to look at it. Or think about what the man was doing. Or listen to the sound of his breath, becoming increasingly rapid and ragged.

The man was standing right in front of him. As the man’s movements became more frantic, of course Dorian knew what was going to happen. He was just in denial. Just the thought of it was disgusting.

Lion Mask made a deep noise of pleasure as he touched himself.

 _No,_ Dorian thought. _Don’t. You. Dare._ Instinctively, he closed his eyes, trying to jerk his head back, but there wasn’t enough slack in the chains.

Liquid, hot, roped across his face. Then slowly dripped down from his chin to his chest.

Dorian whimpered. Maker, he’d never felt so degraded before.

He was vaguely aware of the magister tucking himself away. And the evil man’s smirk. “It looks good on you,” he murmured appreciatively.

Dorian whimpered again.

“But next time,” he promised, “you can swallow it.”

 


	6. Zero to Anders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull's Chargers to the rescue! Will they be able to save Dorian in time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why, but it feels like I haven't posted in a long time... so... I promise there won't be any oh-crap-now-what cliffhangers from now until the end. Well... nothing super dramatic anyway.
> 
> I'm happy if I amused you with Fenris' hatred of mages being on a scale from zero-to-Anders. Heh.
> 
> As always, feel free to leave comments & crits. I love reading them! :D

An hour in the street had turned up no witnesses. Defeated, the Chargers trudged back to the hotel to wait.

Varian and Rilienus were huddled near the door.

“...so I should really go home,” Rilienus was saying.

Varian didn’t have an issue with the fact that Dorian slept with men. What he _did_ have an issue with was Dorian’s choice of a bed warmer. First of all, Rilienus had barely managed to pass his exams. Second of all, not only was he overly arrogant for a second-rate enchanter, he was also a sniveling social climber. Dorian deserved better.

Varian’s expression and tone became a cold and haughty reminder that Rilienus was beneath him. “Yes, boy. Run along home to your _wife.”_

All eyes fell on Rilienus.

On Fenris’ scale of _zero to Anders_ , Rilienus was now at least an eight.

Dorian’s lover muttered something about returning in the morning before he slunk out.

One less mage in the room. _Good,_ Fenris thought.

After a few more hours, Eremita, having used up her mana, was replaced by a quiet man called Healer Vitas.

Bull went down to the front desk and ordered up some food for everyone.

Fenris didn’t eat much. Watching the healer work didn’t do much for his appetite. It had been hours already of intermittent spell-casting. And Krem was so waxy and pale that he appeared bloodless.

The Chargers took turns napping in the chairs. At some point, Varian dozed off, too. Fenris was glad that Varian hadn’t bothered to make small talk with him. Despite his anti-slavery stance, Varian had always treated him as Dorian’s slave – less like a person and more like an object that Dorian had left lying around.

The elf child eventually woke up around dawn and began whining. The only thing that calmed the boy was when Fenris picked him up again. Arms about his neck, small face hiding in his hair.

Bull, who was awake, chuckled. “Aww, he likes you.”

“This isn’t amusing,” Fenris grumbled. “Or convenient.”

“Just remember who was throwing a hissy fit about leavin’ him behind.”

Fenris grunted.

Bull plucked something out from the bag of leftovers on the table and held it out to the child. “Hey, kid. Wanna cookie?”

He did.

Fenris tried not to be annoyed that he was now covered in cookie crumbs. Especially since Bull managed to get the child to finally speak and tell them his name: Cynarel.

Shortly after, Healer Vitas ran out of mana. Varian, awake again, sent for a replacement.

In less than half an hour, the replacement arrived. Fenris was sitting in one of the chairs, Cynarel in his lap, quiet, but still clingy, so he didn’t see the healer until Bull opened the door all the way and the man stepped in.

He wore dark clothes. Too many feathers. Strawberry blond hair pulled back from his face. And, although time hadn’t been too kind to him, Fenris recognized him immediately.

The man who’d blown up the Chantry in Kirkwall and started the mage rebellion. The man who had openly gloated his approval when Hawke sold Fenris back to Danarius. The man that Fenris hated more than any other mage.

Anders.

***

The magister had withdrawn, leaving Dorian naked, cold, and chained in the dark.

Restricted in his movements, it wasn’t long before Dorian’s muscles were screaming at him from being held in one position. Shifting his weight did little to relieve his discomfort. Still, his physical distress wasn’t half as alarming as his thoughts.

He didn’t want to think about the perverse ways in which his captor was going to use him. Nor did he want to think about how the maleficars were going to sacrifice him eventually in their blood magic ritual. And he certainly didn’t want to think about Krem, lying motionless on the ground. Possibly dead.

Dorian made a small, choked noise in his throat.

_Maker, please. Don’t let Krem be dead. And send someone to save me._

***

Anders glanced around the room, and his eyes came to rest on a rather familiar face.

“Andraste’s flaming knickerweasels,” Anders muttered. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

Bull looked vaguely surprised. “Hey, Ghost. You seem to get that a lot,” he remarked. “You know this guy?”

Fenris ignored Bull to growl at Anders. “Watch your damn mouth, _mage.”_

Anders considered him. “You remember me, then? I’m surprised. Hawke told me that Danarius had wiped your memories.”

Fenris growled again, this time a curse. If he hadn’t been holding the child, he probably would have been lyrium ghost fist deep in Anders’ body by now.

Anders’ gaze fell to the child. Pointed ears, green eyes... he came to a conclusion. _"You_ reproduced? Of all people... are you sure that was wise?”

“We rescued him from slavers,” Fenris muttered. “He’s not _mine.”_

“Well, thank the Maker for that. The world has enough of your particular brand of crazy.”

“So says the man who murders innocent people and has a demon inside him.”

“Strange. Justice and I didn’t miss you at all.”

“Strange. I’d still enjoy ripping your heart out.”

Bull again: _“Ghost.”_

The two men stopped bickering to look at the Qunari.

“Well,” Anders said. “I don’t suppose I can get away with a different name, so... I’m Anders.”

Bull cocked an eyebrow. _“The_ Anders? Interesting.” Crossing his arms, he shot a disapproving look down at Fenris. “I’m sure you two have a lot of catching up to do, but maybe you can save that for when Krem’s _not_ dying.”

Fenris blanched.

Of course he didn’t want Krem to die. But he didn’t really want Anders to put his hands on Krem, either. Unable to stop himself, he shifted the child in his arms, trailing behind Anders across the room.

“Poison, right?” Anders was asking Bull. “Did the other healers say what kind?”

“Quiet Death.”

“Oof.” Anders grimaced. It was the most toxic poison in Thedas, actually a blend of four other deadly poisons. “It’s a miracle it didn’t kill him on the spot.”

“Healer Eremita thought it was because he only got nicked – not enough poison got into his blood to kill him instantly.”

Anders pushed up his sleeves. Extended his hands, feeling, seeking...

Fenris’ rough voice came over his shoulder. “If he dies, I’ll kill you.”

Anders flicked a glance at the green eyes, full of emotion. Anger, mostly, but also fear. “This man means something to you?”

Fenris’ jaw twitched. “He’s my friend.”

The mage laughed. _“You_ made a friend? Oh, that’s rich. I never would have thought that possible, given your complete lack of charm.”

Fenris grunted. “Shut up.”

“You’re the one who keeps talking to me,” Anders pointed out.

Fenris stopped talking.

Anders let the healing magic trickle out of his fingertips, letting it pool in all the flesh that was slowly being destroyed by the poison. Considered the man on the bed. Fortunately he was moderately young, hale and strong.

Anders had healed so many people over the years that the spell-casting was almost automatic. His gaze drifted curiously back to the elf, still hovering behind him. “What are you doing in Tevinter, anyway?” he asked, despite knowing that talking to Fenris was always a mistake.

“Killing slavers.”

Well, that made sense, anyway. Slavers were the one thing Fenris hated even more than mages.

Grudgingly, Fenris asked, “And you?”

Anders laughed, a dry sound. “Actually... it was your suggestion. You once said I could do well in Tevinter. And I have.”

That Anders had followed his advice was bad enough. But that his advice had made Anders _happy..._ Fenris made a noise of exasperation.

The door to the room opened and Rilienus came back in, not quite meeting Varian’s eyes. “Has he woken yet?”

Anders replied. “Not yet. Wait...”

One of the other healers had put the man into a trance, slowing down his body’s functions. Anders determined that it was safe enough to bring him out of it. Carefully, he unknotted the spell and brought Krem slowly back to wakefulness.

Krem blinked. He didn’t know where he was. Or how he had gotten here. But he remembered his failure. “Dorian!”

“Krem,” Bull said softly. No silly nickname this time, which meant that things were bad. “Someone took him. Do you remember anything?”

“Yeah. The guy who stabbed me,” Krem said. Talking was an effort, but he described the man with the blood-red hair and the scar.

Fenris cocked his head. “That scar. Was it like this?”

Krem watched as Fenris traced out a question mark down the side of his own face.

“Yeah. Exactly like that.”

Bull looked at him curiously. “You actually know this guy?”

“He’s a henchman of a magister named Bricio,” Fenris revealed. “Or, at least, he used to be.”

“Do you know anything else about this magister?”

Fenris’ expression grew dark. “He’s an evil man. And a maleficar,” he said. “Kidnapping wouldn’t be beneath him. And if he has taken Pavus, there is only place they could be: at his villa outside of Minrathous.”

***

The Chargers were not subtle in their attack on Bricio’s villa.

Rocky blasted the front door right off its hinges. Stepping over the rubble, the warriors, swords swinging, cut down the guardsmen who had come running at the sound of the explosion. The first wave gutted, the Chargers pressed forward to meet the next wave.

Fenris led the way. Magister Bricio was a powerful mage. They would face him together.

The magister heard the screams of his dying men from the upstairs rooms. Staff in hand, he looked down at the mayhem from his balcony.

He felt a little bristle of fear as he recognized the white-haired elf with the lyrium markings: Danarius’ pet.

At that moment, Fenris looked up. “Bricio!”

They’d come for the Pavus boy. Bricio had no intention of fighting them. But he wasn’t going to let them have Halward Pavus’ son, either.

The Chargers scattered as Bricio cast a hasty spell, lightning bolts bouncing across the marble floor. Then he ran.

“After him!” Fenris shouted, taking the lead in the pursuit of the magister.

Down in the cold, dark room, Dorian felt a spark of hope when the screams began. _Cremisius has come to rescue me,_ he thought. Then as fear and doubt trickled through him: _Maker, please let that be true._

Footsteps grew louder. Then the door was thrown open. The magister, unmasked, darted into the room, raising his staff.

Directly at Dorian.

Fear spiked through Dorian’s blood. _Oh Maker no_. The man was going to kill him before his rescuers could arrive. It wasn’t fair – he could even hear the thunder of their rapid footfalls approaching.

And then a flash of black and white in the doorway, accompanied by an angry growl. “Bricio!”

The magister whirled, readying to unleash his spell.

Fenris’ markings flared to life as he surged forward. Another step and his ghost form occupied the same space as the magister’s body.

Fenris extinguished his markings, solidifying all at once.

Blood, guts and bone spattered the floor where the magister used to be. The staff clattered as it struck stone.

The remaining Chargers burst through the doorway, lowering weapons upon seeing their lieutenant dripping with gore.

Fenris’ gaze fell upon Dorian. He felt his stomach clench. He then tossed a glance at the Chargers over his shoulder. “Out!” he ordered.

The Chargers’ gazes lingered on Dorian briefly, but they all filed out without comment. Bull, the last one out, thoughtfully closed the door.

Moving cautiously, Fenris crossed the room, then crouched down in front of Dorian. Dorian’s gray eyes were a mix of relief, disbelief, and pain.

Fenris spoke softly, in the tone that one used with spooked horses. “Did he have a key?”

Dorian stared into Fenris’ eyes, surprised by the depth of concern in them. “In his... pocket.”

Fenris’ gaze lingered on his, searching. Then the elf withdrew, searching among the scraps of clothing until he found the key. Crouching down in front of Dorian again, he unlocked the shackles around his wrists before removing the ones around his ankles.

A hiss of pain escaped Dorian as he tried to lower his arms. His shoulder muscles were screaming in agony from being locked in that position all night.

Then, unexpectedly, Fenris’ hands were on his right shoulder, working the soreness out until Dorian was finally able to lower his arm.

As Fenris massaged the other shoulder, the door cracked open. Bull.

“Ghost? Found these.”

Fenris rose to fetch the pile of fabric from the Qunari’s hand – Dorian’s robes. Bull withdrew again as Fenris returned to Dorian. Kneeling down, he tugged the robes around Dorian’s shoulders, then reached for Dorian’s hand, rubbing gently at first one wrist, then the other.

Fenris touching him so carefully, so gently, was unexpected.

 _He’s been in this position,_ Dorian realized. _Chained, frightened, hurt._

He wondered if anyone had ever treated Fenris with this sort of kindness afterward.

Then, still not speaking, Fenris was carefully easing Dorian off his knees.

Dorian ended up leaning against him. Against his bare chest, Dorian could feel hard metal, soft leather, and the warm, solid, reassuring body beneath. “Where’s Krem?”

Strong elven fingers were squeezing the aching muscles in his thigh. “Krem is okay,” Fenris murmured. “Are you?”

 _Ugh._ “No, I’m not okay!”

Green eyes peered into his face, concerned again. “That man. Magister Bricio. Did he–?”

 _“Please_ don’t finish that question.”

The elf’s mouth became grim. “If you need healing... Stitches is just outside the door.”

Dorian made a noise of exasperation. “No. I... I just want this blasted collar off.”

Fenris carefully pulled back. Pale fingers danced around the collar as he studied it. Then he withdrew, moving to the door to open it a crack. “Dalish.”

The elven mage came in. After a brief examination of the collar, she was able to remove it easily with the application of a little magic.

Dorian reached out. Relief flooded him as he touched the familiar edge of the Fade.

Shaky, Dorian managed to rise to his feet. His arms were still stiff as he pulled his robes on. He suspected that Fenris would have helped him dress if he’d asked, but he had too much pride to do so. Eventually, though, he managed to cover himself.

“Please,” he said softly. “Take me to Krem.”

***

The Chargers congregated again at the Veilfire Inn, this time with Dorian Pavus.

After a brief talk with Healer Eremita, who had returned to replace Anders, it was determined that Krem was in no shape to travel far.

“Sorry, Cremisius,” Dorian said with a smile. “It looks like we’re going back to my aunt’s house, after all.”

Krem, weak and pale, forced a smile for Dorian. “I’ll do my best to suffer in luxury, Chief.”

Dorian then grabbed Rilienus by the sleeve, and dragged him into the most private corner of the room, and spoke in a whisper. “What did the healers say?”

“They said that the poison is creeping through his blood, attacking one organ at a time,” Rilienus said. “He’s in for a long fight. But, as long as he has a healer by his side, fighting every step of the way, there’s no reason why he shouldn’t recover eventually.”

Dorian’s face was a mix of fear, worry and pain. “Whatever it takes. I’ll do it.”

Confronting Dorian’s raw emotion was almost too much for Rilienus to bear. He placed his hands lightly on Dorian’s shoulders. “Dorian. I...”

Dorian’s mouth twitched in a sad smile. “Please don’t say anything you might regret later. I don’t think I could _stand_ it if you did.”

Rilienus nodded slowly. But then gathered Dorian into arms, offering what comfort he could.

Across the room, as Fenris watched the men embrace, he felt a sick stab of something dark and ugly. Oh, his hate for the gorgeous enchanter was at least a nine, now. He hadn’t had much experience with this particular emotion before, but still he recognized it.

Jealousy.

 


	7. Beauty Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris finds himself back in the company of Dorian and Krem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... if you've been waiting for Dorian and Fenris to have a real conversation, here you go! Actually, from here until the end, the story focuses mostly on the relationship between the two or them. Romance ahead!
> 
> Also, I couldn't resist throwing in one more scene with Anders.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Fenris was brooding.

He was moderately certain that the gods were trying to piss him off.

First, Dorian and Bull had decided that, until Krem recovered, that Dorian should use one of the Chargers as his own personal bodyguard, while the rest of the Chargers went to Marnas Pell to follow up a lead on the Crimson Hands.

“Ghost,” Bull rumbled before they departed the Veilfire Inn. “You’re staying with the ‘Vints.”

Fenris grabbed Bull by the arm, maneuvering him out into the hall, which was no easy feat as he was holding Cynarel again. Apparently, the child had whined the entire time Fenris was gone. The look Varian had given him upon their return could have frozen fire.

Fenris was livid. “Captain. You can’t be serious.”

Bull crossed his arms, staring down at the elf. “You got a problem with Dorian?”

Fenris made a face. “He’s a _magister._ ”

“Yeah. Given your history – fair. But you work for me, and I’m working for him, so... think of me as the middleman. Anyway, we’ll be back soon. Just stay here and keep him from being killed.”

“Have Stitches stay.”

“We need him in the field.”

“Grim, then.”

“After what happened? They almost killed _Krem._ You know he ain’t no slouch in a fight. Now Dorian needs my best sword. That ain’t Grim.”

Fenris made a noise of frustration.

“’Sides, you staying here with the kid makes sense. Least ‘til we figure out what to do with him.”

Second, Dorian’s aunt lived in a mansion in the Gilded Quarter of Minrathous. The same quarter where he’d spent years of his life, first as Danarius’ bodyguard, then as his pet. Riding through the streets, everything had been a reminder of his past as Danarius’ slave.

There was absolutely nothing pleasant about that. At best, it caused a sad, sick churning way down in the pit of his stomach.

Third, this meant that he’d seen Anders again at Aunt Cassia’s house. They’d set Krem up in a private room. Again, mistrustful, Fenris followed him – though, since Dorian had managed to find an elder elven slave woman to watch Cynarel for them, and the child hadn’t protested too much, Fenris was finally free of his burden.

As Anders sat at the edge of the bed, letting healing energy trickle into Krem’s sleeping form, he studied Fenris before turning to Dorian. “So, you really own this animal?” he asked. “I’m surprised you haven’t killed him yet.”

Anger flared in Fenris’ eyes. “Nobody owns me!”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. He needed both of these men, so there was no way he was going to antagonize either one of them. “I... no. Fenris is a free elf. And I think there’s something I need to be doing in a different room. Resting, perhaps.”

Anders and Fenris watched as Dorian gracefully – but hastily – slipped out.

Fenris crossed his arms, mouth twitching as he glared down disdainfully at the mage.

Anders sighed. “If you have something to say, just fucking say it already.”

“Do you really still have that demon inside you?”

“I’m not talking about Justice with _you,”_ he said, in a way that was definitive.

Fenris snorted. “Fine.” He paused, considering his enemy. “What _are_ you doing in Tevinter, anyway? I suppose you’re trying to be a _magister.”_

“What? And spend ten years indentured to another man to become a Tevinter citizen? No thank you. I’m fine working as a humble healer.”

“So you just _work_ for the magisters.”

Coming from Fenris, that was an insult. “Actually, I spend most of my time helping the elves in the slums who are too poor to otherwise afford treatment,” Anders said. “Though I am planning on charging your master a fortune for healing this man.”

“He is not my master!”

Anders watched as Fenris silently quivered with rage. Anders was certain that Fenris wanted to kill him, and the only thing stopping him from trying was that Anders was healing his friend.

Relenting, Anders sighed. “Fine, he’s not your master,” he said. Then considered Fenris for a moment. “Can I ask you something?”

Fenris spoke through gritted teeth. “If you must.”

“How did you regain your memory, anyway?”

Fenris’ nostrils flared.

“Oh, shit,” Anders murmured, then laughed dryly. “It was magic, wasn’t it?”

Fenris quivered with rage again.

“You can’t even admit it, can you?” Anders marveled. “What was it that you used to say all the time? That magic spoils everything it touches? Well, it fixed you, didn’t it?”

“Just... shut up.”

Anders narrowed his eyes. “What a hypocrite you are. Ranting about how all mages are abominations and how we should all be locked up, but you certainly jumped on a mage quick enough when he offered to suck your cock.”

Fenris hissed. “You bastard.”

Anders fixed him in a cool stare. “You do realize that Hawke slept with half the people in Kirkwall, don’t you?”

Fenris froze. Once, he’d overheard Varric make a teasing remark to Hawke implying exactly that. But he’d just ignored it.

Now his lips twisted as he snarled. “Yes. And _you_ weren’t among them.”

As Anders’ expression became pained, Fenris realized that he’d stumbled on the perfect way to hurt the mage. As Fenris had always suspected, Anders was _in love_ with Hawke.

“Just...” Anders began and faltered. “Go. I need to concentrate. On the healing.”

Finally, Fenris felt vaguely ill whenever he thought about that stab of jealousy he’d felt when Rilienus – who had no right to be so tall, so human, so beautiful, and _married_ – touched Dorian.

Of all the people in Thedas to make him feel that way, it had to be Dorian Pavus. His ex-master. A magister.

Brooding in his bed in the slave quarters, there was no way Fenris was going to sleep.

With a sigh, he threw back the blanket.

***

It was late. Fenris wandered through the quiet house. Vaguely wondered if he’d be able to find the wine cellar, because he could certainly use a drink. Or three. Perhaps then he’d be able to sleep in his strange bed among strangers.

As he wandered through the rooms, a soft, muffled noise caught his attention. He couldn’t be certain, but it almost sounded like someone crying.

Curiosity compelled him to follow the sound. Into a room lit only by the moonlight that coursed in through the windows. Where he discovered Dorian, sitting on the floor, weeping, his back to the wall and a bottle of something between his legs.

There wasn’t even a glass, which meant that Dorian had been drinking straight from the bottle. Well, not that Fenris had ever owned any glasses himself, so he really wasn’t fit to judge the magister’s actions.

Fenris considered the situation. Dorian hadn’t noticed him in the doorway yet, which meant that he could slip away, and pretend he hadn’t seen anything.

For some reason unknown to him, Fenris chose to speak. “Pavus.”

Dorian startled. Swore softly as he hastily reached up to wipe his eyes. Maker, the last thing he wanted was for someone – _anyone!_ – to see him like this.

Fenris moved forward, then crouched down in front of Dorian, eyeing him critically. “Is there a reason why you’re sitting here in the dark, on the floor, drunk as a dwarf?”

“I’m really not all that drunk,” Dorian said, but the slur in his words betrayed him.

Fen studied him. Whatever ill-will he’d felt against Dorian on principle for being a Tevinter magister, he’d set it aside upon finding him in chains. His compassion for slaves trumped his hatred for magic. “Is that reason Krem?”

Dorian grimaced. “I... you know, if he dies... I could never forgive myself.” He made a noise of dismay somewhere in his throat. “If I hadn’t gone to see Rilienus...”

Fen’s expression became grim. A part of him wanted to agree, to blame Dorian. To blame his lover. Instead he grunted, and admitted, “Krem is one of the strongest men I know. He’ll pull through.”

Dorian made the same noise again. Once more, he wiped at his eyes, which were wet again. “I hope you’re right.”

The man was a wreck. Fenris had a suspicion. “Do you want to talk about what Bricio did to you?”

Dorian laughed weakly. “Oh, he hardly did anything. Other than the part where he chained me naked to a wall for a night and used magic to hurt me.” Dorian made a strangled noise. “Strangely, not the worst date I’ve ever had.”

Fenris scowled at him. “You’re lying.”

“No. He made threats, yes. But he only...”

Fenris filled in. “He came on your face.”

Dorian shuddered at the memory. “Do you have to be so... vulgar?”

After a year with Bull and his Chargers, Fenris could have come up with at least five other ways of describing it that would have been _less_ delicate. “How did you want me to put it? ‘He spent his seed indiscriminately’?”

Actually... that was a pretty good description of Dorian’s youth. But then he fixed Fenris in a questioning stare. “Wait. How did you know?”

“He was in Danarius’ circle. I know his habits. It was always the same. That was the first act. Do you know what the second act was?”

Dorian shuddered again. “He... might have mentioned that one.”

Fenris exhaled roughly. Why was he even talking about this? “Do you know the third? Or fourth, or fifth?”

“I... not really, no.”

“Shall I tell you?”

Dorian thought for a moment. Or tired to think, as it was difficult with all the drink he’d already imbibed. “No. I really don’t want to know,” he said. Then: “You must have enjoyed killing him.”

Fenris’ response was plain and to the point. “Yes. I did.”

“Good,” Dorian murmured. “And I didn’t say this before, but... thank you.”

Fenris blinked. Then his expression became grim again. “I’m putting you to bed.”

Dorian laughed weakly again as Fenris hauled him to his feet. Unsteady, Dorian leaned heavily against the elf. Out of his armor, Fenris was all hard body under soft cotton. “When did you become so bossy?”

Fenris dragged Dorian towards the door. “About the time you restored my memories.”

“Oh,” Dorian murmured, his breath hot against Fenris’ neck. “Mmm. Yes.”

Fenris mentally kicked himself, knowing that Dorian was now thinking about that night in Nessum. Worse, now Fenris was thinking about that night, all the pleasure that Dorian had given him, and how he had kept begging for more.

 _No._ Fenris quickly shoved that memory back down. He tugged Dorian along. “Move it.”

Although the enchanter wasn’t entirely coherent or helpful, Fenris finally managed to find Dorian’s room. Once inside, he guided the mage forward before pushing him roughly down onto the bed.

Dorian growled in protest. “Maker’s balls! Do you have to toss me around like I’m a bag of flour?”

Fenris snorted. “Are you just going to lie there?” he grumbled. “At least take off your boots.”

Dorian groaned. “Ugh. Can’t. Room’s spinning.”

Silence.

Then Fenris sighed. “ _Vishante kaffas_ ,” he muttered, then moved forward to pull off Dorian’s boots. Those he set on the floor at the foot of the bed. Yes, he knew that Dorian always slept in the nude, but Fenris wasn’t going to undress him. “Now – sleep.”

Dorian’s response was an unintelligible and sleepy, “Mmph.”

Fenris sighed again. Well, his good deed of the day was done. Andraste would smile kindly upon him. Nothing left to do but retrieve the bottle of whatever Dorian had been drinking and retire to his own bed with it.

By Dorian’s bed, on the end table, a lantern burned. Fenris moved to extinguish it.

By the bedside, he glanced down at Dorian. The enchanter, apparently, had already passed out, if his light snoring – _he snores now?_ – was anything to go by.

Fenris considered him. His perfect hair was mussed, falling over his brow. Eyes closed, his dark lashes fanned over his beautiful bronze skin. Maker, he was so handsome. As Dorian was lying on his side, Fenris could study his profile – that slight bump in his nose, the lips softly curving below his mustache, and that beauty mark high on his right cheekbone, near his eye. Fenris had never touched it. Vaguely he wondered what it felt like.

Without thinking, Fenris reached out a hand towards the mark on Dorian’s face.

Then he stopped himself, right before his fingers made contact. For a moment, his hand hovered, twitching in the air.

_Kaffas! What is wrong with me?_

His hand hovered for another moment before his fingers curled into a fist. Almost reluctantly, Fenris withdrew his hand.

_Stop thinking. Drink, and then bed._

Fenris extinguished the lamp, and then fled the room.

***

Being in the Magisterium for Fenris was like being viciously thrust into the Void.

He’d been here before, many, many years ago, when he’d still served as Danarius’ bodyguard. Back when – although he’d never admit it now – he’d still felt something for his master that resembled affection. But he’d forgotten what it felt like to be surrounded by so many magisters, and to be able to feel their collective power, making his lyrium markings itch.

He’d never once imagined that he’d be standing in this large, vaulted room again. And, once again, guarding a magister.

All of the most powerful and evil mages of Tevinter were gathered in this room. Fenris recognized some of them.

If only he had one of Rocky’s bombs. That would solve most of Tevinter’s problems. Or, at the very least, some of his own.

He listened, of course, to Dorian’s pretty speech. It truly was pretty – Dorian was rather talented as an orator, his words both eloquent and persuasive. Not that Fenris would have argued against any of the points Dorian was making about how maleficars needed to be punished by a neutral party, as strictly and swiftly as his law reforms would allow.

There were some counterpoints offered by a number of other magisters, but their arguments were weak, as no one would dare argue wholeheartedly in defense of forbidden magics. At least not in public, in front of their peers. Still, Fenris was surprised when Dorian’s reforms, once put to a vote, actually passed – even though by only a slight margin.

At the end of the assembly, Fenris continued to hover behind Dorian, still ignoring the curious glances he’d been gathering since they arrived, as the enchanter gathered up his papers.

“They agreed readily enough,” Dorian murmured, somewhat under his breath, so Fenris wasn’t certain if Dorian was talking to himself or to him. “Of course, nearly all of them will still use blood magic behind closed doors. Especially the weaker ones.”

“I know,” Fenris murmured back. “But, then, if you know this – why bother making changes?”

Dorian’s expression became grim. “I have to _try.”_ His gaze fell upon the elf’s, then he sighed. “If only the Inquisitor were here,” he said wistfully. “He always had a knack for just making good things happen. You know, like the time an evil darkspawn magister tried to destroy the world and Lavellan just stuck an arrow in his eye, then _boom!_ Problem solved!”

Fenris frowned a bit. Self-deprecation was unlike Dorian. Of course there’d been no stopping Varric from telling stories about the Inquisition, and Dorian was one of the heroes in those stories. “He had help. You should know – you fought Corypheus, too.”

“Ah. Well, I suppose I may have cast a spell or two when I wasn’t preoccupied with trying not to shit my pants.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Your reforms just passed. Shouldn’t you be in a better mood?”

Dorian considered that. In truth, his mood hadn’t been exactly carefree lately. Krem, though alive, was unconscious most of the time. It was impossible not to worry. Also, he couldn’t stop thinking about how Rilienus had so easily dumped him, just because Dorian had sort of admitted to being in love with him _._ And, on top of that, he’d woken up in the middle of the night, gasping for breath and heart pounding, from a terrible nightmare, still able to feel the shackles and the collar about his neck.

He didn’t answer Fenris’ question, though, for Magister Maevaris Tilani had just crossed the room.

“Congratulations, darling,” she said. “Have you any plans to celebrate your triumph?”

“Actually, Mae, I haven’t.”

Fondly, she stroked his arm. “Good. Then you’ll bring that handsome mug of yours to my place tonight. I’m having a party. In your honor.”

Dorian smiled. “In _my_ honor? Then I can’t possibly refuse.”

She chucked him gently under the chin as if he were just a schoolboy. “Of course you can’t.” Her eyes swept over Fenris. “Not your usual bodyguard.”

“It’s been nearly three years, Mae. The poor boy needed a vacation.”

Maevaris looked as though she were about to say something, but instead lifted her hand for Dorian to kiss. “Then I’ll see you two lovely gentlemen tonight.”

 _Gentlemen?_ A bit baffled, Fenris watched the woman sashay away. Then he turned to Dorian. “Don’t tell me you’re really going to make me go to a party full of magisters tonight.”

“I’m afraid so,” Dorian said, but he was smiling slightly. “So wear something nice. Oh, and, do try to do _something_ with your hair.”

 


	8. Diamondback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parties and card games in Minrathous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Fenris continue their dance... 
> 
> Dorian, are you drunk again?! The readers are going to start thinking you have a drinking problem. Maker's balls, even the elf is 100% sober in this chapter, and we all know how much he enjoys his wine. *hands Dorian some tea* There, that's better.
> 
> As always, I appreciate your comments, kudos, crits & compliments!

Getting drunk at Maevaris Tilani’s party seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing for Dorian to do.

The attendees were Mae’s friends, so it wasn’t as though Dorian really needed to keep his guard up. Plus, Fenris was taking his role as Dorian’s bodyguard just as seriously as Krem ever had, and spent the evening hovering close to his elbow. Not to mention that this entire affair was to celebrate _his_ victory.

Fenris was quiet all night. Dorian didn’t think much of it. He just assumed that Fenris was going to play his role as silent sword to the hilt – no pun intended. He didn’t even really pay that much attention to the elf, as he was busy accepting congratulations and making small talk. At least not until one of his well-wishers noted Fenris’ presence with the remark, “I didn’t realize you still owned that slave, Dorian.”

Close by he heard Fenris’ almost inaudible growl.

A quick glance at Fenris. The elf was silent, his eyes averted, but his hands, at his sides, were clenched into fists.

It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that remark. Or even the tenth. Smiling, Dorian just gave the same vague reply, “Ah, well, you know.”

After a few moments, the man moved on. “Fenris?” Dorian said quietly. “Is something wrong?”

Green eyes snapped up immediately, blazing with outrage. They bored into Dorian for a moment before Fenris seized hold of the sleeve of Dorian’s robes. “Come,” he growled, and dragged the magister alongside him.

Out the open doors, they found themselves in the gardens. Fenris’ gaze darted about, then he chose a direction, stopping once they’d reached somewhere private.

He turned to Dorian with a glare. “I am _not_ your slave anymore!” he hissed.

Dorian still had his glass in hand, so he took a thoughtful sip. “Well,” he said. “I mean, technically you are...”

It was really not what Dorian had meant to say. And it was clearly not the right thing to say. If Fenris had truly been a wolf, his hackles would have risen.

“You have no idea what it even means to be a slave,” he snarled. “Do you truly believe that what you’ve done will make the life of every slave in Tevinter better? Just because they can’t be killed doesn’t mean that they are safe from a master who wants to abuse them for reasons other than blood magic. Sometimes death isn’t the worst thing that can happen to a slave.”

Speechless, Dorian stared at Fenris. His chest was literally heaving, fists still clenched, gaze murderous. Maker, Krem was right – there was fire in this elf.

Still seething, Fenris huffed out a breath. “You let everyone in that room think that you own me. Like I’m some sort of object or plaything. Do you have any idea what that feels like? Do you even care?”

Dorian sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. All right – so perhaps that had been insensitive of him. “Forgive me, Fenris, I didn’t mean...”

“Didn’t mean _what?”_ Fenris snapped. “To pretend that you’re still my _master?”_

At Fenris’ tone, it felt like an icicle had just slid down Dorian’s spine.

But – wait. Why was Dorian allowing Fenris to talk to him like this? Fenris may have not been his slave anymore, but the Charger was now working for him. Didn’t he deserve just a little respect?

 _Ugh._ “Balls,” Dorian muttered. Then he snapped back, “Do you _really_ give a shit what these people think? A room full of magisters?”

Fenris blinked. He swallowed so hard that Dorian saw the movement in his throat.

“Fine,” Dorian tossed off. “If I tell them that you’re a free man, that you’re just my bodyguard, would that make you happy?”

Fenris stared at him for a long time. Then he snorted. “I’d be happier if I didn’t have to suffer the company of blood mages.”

Dorian moved quickly. He set down his glass on a bench, and closed the distance between them. “Wait,” he whispered. “There are blood mages _here?”_ Then, “How do you _know?”_

Fenris startled. All of a sudden Dorian was standing right in front of him. “I...” He swallowed again. “Magisters don’t hide their use of blood magic from slaves because no one thinks that a slave would ever tell.”

“But you’re _not_ a slave.” Dorian’s eyes glittered with unbridled glee. “Would you be willing to bear witness? In front of the Templars?”

Fenris eyed him with surprise. “You want me to rat out your _friends?”_

That there were maleficars hidden in Tilani’s circle was unfortunate... but not surprising. Maleficars were everywhere. Dorian suspected that if he managed to eradicate every single one of them, it would leave the Magisterium rather empty. “Calling them my friends implies that I don’t want them dead. Which I do.”

Fenris considered. “Then, yes.”

Dorian’s lips curled up with devious pleasure. He leaned closer to Fenris, murmuring, “Maker, you are marvelous.”

Dorian was so close to him that he’d felt the man’s hot breath against his lips. All of a sudden, Fenris forgot that he was angry. He could hear his own heart, thundering in his ears. He was pinned, transfixed, by Dorian’s hungry eyes delving into his. And why did he feel like he was melting?

For a moment, they stared into each others’ eyes.

In Fenris’ eyes... _Is that longing?_

There was a little twitch in Dorian’s smile. “By the way... I do like what you’ve done with your hair.”

Fenris had actually made an effort to style his hair, even using a little beeswax to keep it swept back away from his face. An action he regretted when Dorian lifted a hand, his fingers trailing through the white strands.

Fenris felt the light sweep of Dorian’s fingers just under his hairline, against the unscarred skin, as the pale gray eyes continued to search his.

He quivered.

Then Dorian’s fingers tightened around the nape of his neck, tentatively drawing him in. For a kiss.

And Fenris, breath caught in his throat, was _letting_ him.

_No... Maker, I can’t want this. Not with him._

Fenris jerked back, eyes wide. “What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was all cold accusation. “Are you... _drunk_?”

Dorian took a step back. Considered the question. Mostly he’d been thinking how beautiful the elf’s eyes were, and how within them, Dorian had seen what appeared to be an invitation. But, apparently, he’d misread the situation? “I... perhaps?”

Green eyes narrowed. “Don’t do that again,” Fenris snarled. “The next time you put a hand on me, you will lose it.”

Cremisius had said almost the exact same thing before. When was Dorian ever going to learn when to keep his hands to himself? _Ugh._ “My apologies, Fenris,” Dorian said, a bit stiffly. “It won’t happen again.”

***

One afternoon, Fenris went to check on Krem.

For the past week, he’d spent most of his free time minding Cynarel while the elder slave woman they’d found to watch him performed her own household duties. Also, Dorian rarely went out, except on two occasions to visit Varian, so Fenris hadn’t seen much of him. Except now, as he moved down the corridor, he slowed as he heard two familiar voices issuing out of the open doorway to Krem’s room.

“–don’t you think it’s about time?” Krem was asking.

“You may have a point.”

“Think about it, Chief. How would you feel if you were in his position?”

“If I were in his position?” Dorian emitted a bark of laughter. “Obviously I’d be a raging lunatic who hates all mages.”

Fenris came to a full stop. Listening.

“Well, he didn’t hate Hawke.”

Dorian’s voice seethed with sarcasm. “Oh, yes. Hawke was _so_ helpful. In the ‘Oh, you’ve dumped me, so I’m going to get revenge by selling you back into slavery’ variety of help.” He snorted. “That nug-fucker. I wish the Inquisitor had left _him_ in the Fade.”

Fenris cringed at the hatred in those words. And yet, the memory was still there, a wound that continually bled. Hawke’s callous words still echoed in his head.

_If you want him, he’s yours._

“You know,” Dorian continued, “if I ever see that beast of a man again, I think I’ll just blast his fucking head off before he can even reach for his staff. I imagine it would be rather satisfying.”

“Oh, yeah? Not unless I stick my sword in him first.”

_They... want to kill Hawke? For betraying me?_

“Oh, Krem, you’re adorable,” Dorian teased. “You know that I’m faster than you.”

Krem sniggered. “If what Rilienus said is true, than I guess you are.”

Snort of laughter. “Not fair! And very much not true.”

Fenris leaned quietly back against the wall, eyes closed, lost in that piece of his past. How many months had he spent, listening to Dorian and Krem banter just like this? And he hadn’t known any better then – he’d been happy.

Krem had been his friend. And Dorian had been...

_No. Don’t finish that thought._

“Also, my dear Cremisius,” Dorian was saying, “have you forgotten that your lovely pirate wench is very candid on the topic of her sex life?”

“I ain’t touching that. Not even with Bull’s ten-foot pole.”

Dorian groaned. “Please tell me that you’re actually referring to his _weapon._ ”

Fenris forced himself off the wall and entered the room. Dorian sat in a chair at the bedside. Krem sat in the bed, propped up by pillows, so pale. But when he saw Fenris, he broke into a genuinely warm smile.

“Hey, elf. Diamondback later?”

***

Dorian tossed a Priestess card down on the bed. Again.

Fenris frowned. Krem muttered a mild curse. Pleased, Dorian smiled.

They both folded, then Dorian collected the cards to deal again.

Krem reached for his tea and took a sip as he watched Dorian shuffle. “Hey, Chief, how much longer do I have to stay in this bed?”

“Until one of the healers says you’re allowed to get out of it,” Dorian said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Krem rolled his eyes. His mother had used that same tone with him when he’d been a child. “Yeah, well. Long as I’m better by Wintersend,” he said. It was the most important holiday in Tevinter, and its elaborate celebrations had been one of the things he’d really missed while living down south. Also, there was the matter of Isabela, coming to see him. Hopeful, he asked, “Think we’ll be back in Qarinus?”

“Just focus on getting better,” Dorian said. “If necessary, we can bring the holiday to us.” Dorian smiled knowingly. “Including any feisty pirate wenches you may know.”

Krem brightened.

Thoughtful, Dorian dealt the cards. “You know, Wintersend in Minrathous isn’t so terrible. And I did promise Alexandria that I’d take her to see the tourneys at the Proving Grounds someday.”

Fenris’ eyes slid over to Dorian. “You would take your daughter to watch bloodshed?”

“It’s not _all_ bloodshed,” Dorian said. Then he smiled. “Besides, exposure to some bloodshed would probably be good for her. You know how parties in Tevinter are. Better to be prepared for the inevitable.”

Fenris huffed. It wasn’t as though he’d had any desire to spend time with Dorian. He was only doing it for Krem. Krem, who’d admitted that he was bored off his ass just lying in bed all day. Which is how he and Dorian had ended up in Krem’s room, playing cards, and drinking hot tea – as the healers had strictly prohibited the recovering man from imbibing alcohol.

Still, he was relieved that Krem was finally getting better.

Fenris studied his cards. Better than the last hand, at any rate. This time, he had a Priestess card and a Queen.

“So, heard from Bull lately?” Krem asked as he considered his own cards.

“Ah,” Dorian said. “In fact, he’s managed to clear out that faction of the Crimson Hands in Marnas Pell. Last I heard, he was taking the Chargers on another lead to Vyrantium. Oh, and, I quote ‘scaring the living shit out of everybody.’ Unquote.”

Krem smirked. “You should have just cast one of those illusion spells on him, made him look like a ‘Vint.”

“Oh, I offered, but he refused.” Dorian smiled wryly. “You know Bull - he _enjoys_ scaring the shit out of people.”

“True, that.” Krem laughed softly. “Horns up.”

Fenris and Krem both made the Chargers’ sign.

Dorian sighed and returned his attention to his cards.

Fenris brooded a bit, thinking about the Chargers. He should have been killing slavers with them, and not locked up here in the Gilded Quarter with Krem and Dorian. He liked Krem, of course. But Dorian...

Fenris glanced at the handsome enchanter, watching his long, elegant fingers sliding over the cards in his hand. And, despite himself, recalled how they’d felt brushing against his neck at Tilani’s party.

_Kaffas!_

Worse, he was now thinking about that night in Nessum. He could remember it as though it had happened yesterday. The way Dorian had touched him, somehow both gentle and passionate. The wonderful things he’d done with his mouth. The intoxicating taste of his skin. The feel of him inside – strangely, even that had felt better than anything he could have possibly imagined. And all those feelings, swirling inside of him.

_I am his._

After more than two years, Fenris had had plenty of time to figure out those feelings. Slaves did become attached to their masters. After Danarius, he would have been grateful to anyone who treated him with anything resembling kindness. He’d been certain that was all it was. Convinced himself of it. But now, seeing Dorian again...

_Stop. Stop thinking about it._

Dorian glanced up, giving Krem a wickedly sly smile. “Speaking of Vyrantium, do you remember that night we spent there?”

A smile played at the corner of Krem’s lips. “How could I ever forget about that?”

Dorian laughed softly. “Yes, it was rather unforgettable, wasn’t it?” Dorian said, then laughed again. “Though, to be honest, I wasn’t expecting it to be so... hot.”

“Yeah,” Krem said with a soft laugh. “And a lot _stickier_ than I expected.”

“Seriously, I don’t I’ve ever seen one that big before,” Dorian mused. “Flames, it hurt. I swear I couldn’t walk right for a week.”

Fenris startled. _What!?_  

“Just remember that it was your idea to do it.”

“I know, I know,” Dorian said. Then he smiled again. “You know, Cremisius, I didn’t even realize you could move like that.”

_I am not hearing this conversation. Not jealous. Not. At. All._

“It ain’t like it was the first done I’d done it, Chief.”

“Yes, but your technique... well, I’ve never seen anyone do it like _that_ before. It was... well, it was rather impressive.”

_Not going to rip Krem’s heart out. No._

“Were you just expecting me to fumble around in the dark?”

“Oh. More or less.”

Krem laughed. “Well. I’m glad I didn’t disappoint you, then, Chief.”

 _Vishante kaffas!_ Fenris, unable to stand it any longer, snapped. “Just what in the Void are you two talking about?”

“Killing giant spiders,” Krem said innocently. “Dorian’s uncle asked us to clear out a cave of ‘em on his property a while back. Why?”

“Uh...” No, there was _no_ way he was going to explain what he’d thought they meant. “Never mind.”

 


	9. Slave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Qarinus, Dorian has a special gift for Fenris on his name-day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure that terrifying experiences can't actually turn your hair white, but that seems to be a popular headcanon to explain Fenris' hair color, so I'm going with that.
> 
> For purposes of story, I had to make up a last name for Fenris. I went with something Greek, since "Leto" is (probably) of Greek origin.

Dorian, Krem and Fenris arrived in Qarinus three days before Wintersend.

As they plodded along on horseback from the docks, Dorian studied Fenris. He’d acquired a length of fabric at Aunt Cassia’s house, which he’d fashioned into a sort of sling so that he could now carry the elven child against his chest while leaving his arms free. Although he sat stiff-backed in the saddle, Dorian had seen him slumping from the weight of his burden on occasion. He supposed that five-year old elves were heavier than they looked. Especially this one, who, though he’d arrived skinny and malnourished, had started to plump up after a couple of weeks of eating well at his aunt’s house.

As Dorian studied them, the child turned his head to look at him. Dorian had always thought that elves were so much prettier than other races, not that he would ever admit such an unpopular opinion. Their children were particularly pretty. And this one – button-nosed, rose-lipped, and with those huge green eyes and those little pointed ears of his – Maker, he was cute.

Fenris, on the other hand, was not _cute._ Dorian wasn’t even sure that _pretty_ was the most precise word to describe him anymore. He was feral, and still sexy as the Void. Dorian was fascinated by the aggressively male edges of his mouth. And when Fenris looked at him with those stunning green eyes of his, it took Dorian’s breath away.

Fenris turned, stealing Dorian’s breath. Then he frowned. “What is it?”

“Did you always have white hair?”

“No,” Fenris said. “That was a side effect of Danarius’ ritual.”

Dorian wasn’t surprised – the Inquisitor’s own white locks were the result of a rather terrifying encounter with a ghast in the woods while he was still young. “And before?”

“Dark.”

Also not surprising considering how dark the elf’s eyebrows were. “Like the boy’s?”

Fenris glanced down at Cynarel. “Yes. Or something like it.”

Dorian smiled. “He looks like you, then? You must have been adorable.”

Clearly uncertain about how to respond, Fenris frowned at him.

“Oh, and, Fenris?”

Grudgingly: “Yes?”

“Would it be too much to ask that you treat my father... respectfully? I mean, he isn’t a magister anymore.”

 _But he’s still a mage. One who almost turned to blood magic._ But Halward Pavus had always been kind to him. “Fine,” he grumbled.

However, though Lord and Lady Pavus greeted them in the foyer, Halward focused only on his son. “Dorian. Come.”

“Come, Father?”

Halward’s lips tightened into a thin line. “Your mother and I received a letter from her sister,” he said. “She told us everything.”

Aunt Cassia was a shameless gossip, so what Dorian had actually told her could have fit into a thimble. Only the Maker knew what sort of rumors she’d crammed into this letter. Though, from what Dorian had gathered in conversation with Varian, rumors about his involvement with Magister’s Bricio’s murder had been rampant. It seemed that they’d left at least one witness alive, and not everyone had a very large Qunari in their employ, nor an elf-shaped weapon in their arsenal capable of completely liquifying a human being.

“Ah,” Dorian conceded. “Very well, Father.”

***

Fenris didn’t see Dorian again until the next day. Not until he stood next to the Iron Bull in Halward’s office where Bull gave Dorian his report, while Faviola – the governess – watched over Cynarel.

Fenris and Krem had greeted the Chargers on their return to House Pavus that afternoon. Their greetings to Fenris had been perfunctory at best, but the lieutenant couldn’t feel slighted, since their relief at seeing Krem well again was painted clearly across their faces.

Bull had told Fenris about the Chargers’ victory shortly after, so none of what Bull told Dorian was news to him. They’d rooted out everyone connected to the slave ring, then killed most of them. They’d even freed some more slaves in Vyrantium. Fortunately, they hadn’t ended up with any more orphans.

“So, Boss,” Bull rumbled. “We _destroyed_ the Crimson Hands. But slavery is... lucrative. There’ll be plenty of other bad guys willing to take their place.”

Dorian just smiled. “Then you’ll just have to come back and kill them again.”

Bull chuckled. “Killing slavers for coin? Works for me.”

“Good,” Dorian said approvingly. Then: “So, Bull, now that your work is done, what are your plans?”

Bull smiled. “We’ll leave after Wintersend,” he said. “Heard your folks are putting on quite a party. It’d be a shame to miss it.”

“Of course. Do try to stay away from the punch bowl, though. That’s where rivals traditionally put poison.”

“Thanks, Boss.” Business now complete, Bull gave Dorian a leer. “Speaking of tradition, I hear it’s the custom in Tevinter to give gifts on Wintersend. So, if you’d like, I could give you a special present. The one I’ve been keeping in my pants.”

Dorian flushed and flustered. “I... umm...” He cleared his throat. “I’ll keep your offer in mind.”

Fenris felt that wicked stab again, ripping right through his chest. _Ugh._

Of course it was at that moment that Dorian’s gaze fell upon him. Fenris didn’t know what his expression was doing, but he quickly tried to compose himself.

Dorian regarded him strangely for a moment before he spoke. “Ah, Fenris? If you don’t mind, there is some business I’d actually like to discuss with Bull in private.”

***

Fenris slipped out of the office and moved swiftly down the corridor, completely disgusted with himself.

 _I do_ not _want that man,_ he told himself. Except that he couldn’t deny the fact that he didn’t want anyone else to have Dorian either. Just the mere thought of Dorian “riding the Bull” made him want to murder someone.

Disgust quickly turned to anger. Fenris was familiar with that emotion, and he welcomed it. It was better to feel anger, rather than jealousy or confusion or pain. Anger kept him focused. Diamond hard and Skyhold-winter cold. Impervious. Impenetrable.

And yet he slowed again when he reached the library.

Dorian’s daughter Alexandria was once again inside, only this time he noticed her immediately, as she sat in the opposite chair. Her dark eyes widened apprehensively when she noticed him in the doorway.

His anger had fled. Replaced by a little jag of guilt. Fenris sighed inwardly, then spoke, quite plainly. “The last time I was here... I am sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

The girl remained still, scrutinizing him. He’d spoken to her like she was an adult. That alone was enough to warm her, just a little. “I wasn’t frightened.”

Denial. Unfortunately, Fenris was also rather familiar with _that_. “ _I_ was.”

Her eyes widened again, this time with incredulity. “You were?”

“I don’t like magic.”

Alex considered him for a long moment. “Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.”

Fenris cocked his head. Everyone said that, of course. But this child... she was young enough to still believe it was true. Had he ever been this innocent? Perhaps he had, before the filthy slavers had shoved him and his family into a cage. “I still don’t like it.”

Alex bit her lip. Then she said, “Then I won’t do any magic in front of you.”

That... was fair. “Thank you.”

Small fingers fidgeted with the book “What are you doing here?”

“I... don’t know.”

Alex scrutinized him again. “Do you want to play?”

Fenris considered that. He wasn’t really doing anything, Perhaps a distraction was exactly what he needed. “If you wish.”

The girl became thoughtful. Indecisive. “What do you want to play?”

Fenris wasn’t certain that he could sit still, even if he wanted to. Better to do something physical. “We could play Dead Man.”

“Dead Man? That’s a game for children.”

Fenris cocked his head. “Aren’t you a child?”

She huffed a lock of hair out of her eyes. “It’s for little kids. Younger than nine.”

“Is it? That’s a shame. I enjoyed playing it.”

Alex chewed on her lip again. Girls her age weren’t supposed to play those kinds of games – they were for boys. And she didn’t want to admit that she wanted to play it. But Fenris had just given her an excuse. “Well, if _you_ want to, then I guess we can,” she said. Then she frowned. “But it’s supposed to be played with more than two people.”

Fenris thought, then said, “I think I can find some others to play with us.”

***

The next day, Bull sent for Fenris.

He found Bull and some of the other Chargers in the atrium, drinking tea. “Ghost,” Bull ordered. “You’re going to town with Dorian. He’s waiting for you in the carriage outside.”

Fenris frowned. “Me? Why?”

“Dunno. Maybe Krem’s busy hanging decorations in the ball room. Just go with Dorian and keep him from getting killed.”

Reluctantly, Fenris did what he was told.

Once he’d slipped into the carriage, Dorian rapped on the roof, and the driver flicked the horses into motion.

Fenris looked out the window, watching the shifting landscape for a few minutes before glancing at the enchanter. “Where are we going?”

Dorian smiled. “I was hoping you would ask that,” he said. “Well, with it being your name-day, I thought that now would be a good time to give you something special.”

Fenris scowled. “You... want to give me a gift?”

Dorian cocked his head. Maker, this elf. Most people _liked_ presents – instead of being pleased, Fenris was looking at him as if Dorian had just kicked a puppy. “It is your name-day today, isn’t it? Krem mentioned that you were born the day before Wintersend.”

“Yes, but...”

“But?”

Fenris bit down on the inside of lip. He didn’t want Dorian to be nice to him. That just made it harder to hate him for being a magister. “I don’t need a fuss made over my name-day.”

“But you’re turning forty, yes? That’s quite a milestone. Someone should make a fuss over you.” The light in his eyes changed. “Forty, though,” he said with wonder. “You really don’t look it.”

Fenris stiffened slightly at the compliment. Then he coughed into his fist. “Elves age better than humans.”

Dorian snorted a soft laugh.

A few minutes later they’d arrived at their destination of a large white building in the heart of the city. Fenris trailed along behind Dorian, who stopped to ask directions from a guard, and then they were crossing the large vestibule, then up some stairs, and finally into an office, where a middle-aged woman in dark robes, with gray-streaked dark hair coiled elaborately at the top of her head, sat behind a desk.

“Judge Gallus?” Dorian said. “I thank you for taking the time to meet us. And on such very short notice.”

“Don’t worry, Lord Pavus,” she said. “I had some other work to finish up before the holiday. Do sit down.”

Sitting down, Dorian drew some papers from inside of his robes, passing them to the judge. Silver rings flashed on her fingers as she set those papers down to another set on her desk. Briefly, she looked them over. “Everything does seem to be in order,” she finally said.

“And now?” Dorian asked.

“We’ll just need a witness.” The judge’s gaze fell upon Fenris, who was lingering uncertainly behind Dorian’s chair. “Go fetch the clerk next door.”

 _Witness to what?_ Fenris frowned. He didn’t like this woman telling him what to do, even if she were a judge.

Dorian turned slightly in his chair, offering Fenris a reassuring smile. “Please, Fenris. It’s rather important.”

Confused about just what, exactly, was going on, Fenris slipped out of the room. In a moment, he returned with the young woman he’d found in the next office.

Judge Gallus turned to Dorian. “I know what your intentions are, but, as a formality, I’ll need you to state it aloud for the witness.”

“Very well.” Dorian thought for a moment. “I, Dorian Pavus, hereby release one slave named Leto Thanos, also known as Fenris, from servitude.” He paused. “Will that suffice?”

“Perfect.”

Surprise froze Fenris. Even his mind was frozen, so he was unable to think, as he watched one after the other sign the papers on the judge’s desk, then he was asked to make his own mark at the bottom of the page.

“That’s it then?” Dorian asked. “That didn’t take long at all.”

The judge held the papers out. To Fenris. “Congratulations,” the judge said. “You are now a free man.”

Reluctantly, Fenris accepted the papers and tucked them away, his thoughts still frozen as Dorian thanked the judge again before leading him out of the office, down the stairs, through the vestibule, then outside and into the waiting carriage again.

Another rap of Dorian’s knuckles and the carriage lurched forward.

“Well!” Dorian said, clearly pleased with himself. “Now you’re no longer a slave. Officially, I mean. And with the papers to prove it. Try not to lose those. Oh, and you can thank Cremisius later, if you like. It actually was his idea.”

Once in the carriage, Fenris’ thoughts had started flowing again. After thirty years, he was no longer a slave. Dorian had freed him. And Dorian had known his real name. Fenris had never told him or Krem his real name, which meant that Bull – one of the few people who did know – had been in on it.

Except thinking wasn’t easy, with Dorian’s incessant chatter. Andraste’s ass, the way that man prattled on all the time, as if he were in love with the sound of his own voice. Fenris wished that Dorian would just shut up.

“Not that being a _liberatus_ is really that much better,” Dorian continued. “You still lack certain rights that even the _soporati_ have. Of course, that doesn’t matter since you’re probably not planning on staying in Tevinter. But–”

Fenris wasn’t thinking much of anything beyond: _Whatever it takes to make this man shut up._

He seized Dorian by the robes and pushed him back against the door of the carriage. He then leaned forward, sealing off the words in Dorian’s mouth by covering it with his own.

There was nothing shy or coy about the way Fenris kissed him. It was passionate and bold, Fenris nearly in his lap, hands clutching and fingers curling into his robes. Dorian’s own hands twined in Fenris’ hair, fingers sweeping across the warm skin at the nape of his neck.

Maker, he still tasted like sunshine.

He certainly hadn’t expected _this._ Fenris on top of him, ravishing his mouth in the most wickedly arousing way. And when Fenris’ tongue darted past Dorian’s lips to swirl against his own, Dorian moaned wantonly into his mouth.

The elf kissing him like this – the insistent pressure of his mouth, the way he bit at Dorian’s lips, those devious little darts of his tongue – it was intoxicating. He could feel his blood surging as the elf squirmed in his lap, fingers now digging through his robes into the flesh below. Dorian wanted him. Badly. He couldn’t think of anything he’d ever wanted more. He was already picturing them having sex, right here, in the back of the carriage.

Fenris growled softly, deep in his throat, as Dorian’s hands slipped around and then down his back, pulling him so that their bodies met. Dorian’s mouth was so _hot._ His body, _hard._ His hands, _strong. Maker, I want... I want this man..._

Then the carriage hit a bump in the road, which jostled them apart.

Fenris’ expression, which was deliciously hazy, changed to one of shock and confusion. So Dorian knew what was going to happen before it happened.

Fenris released him, then backed off quick until he was sitting as far away from Dorian as possible, practically pressed against the door on the other side of the carriage, his face turned towards the window.

_Well, shit._

Dorian surreptitiously made an adjustment under his robes – _Maker, just from kissing!_ – then studied the elf for a moment, who continued to avoid Dorian’s gaze, his arms crossed, and his mouth grim.

“Fenris?”

_A moment of weakness... that’s all. It won’t happen again._

Fenris didn’t look at him. “Whatever you’re about to say, Pavus – don’t.”

He studied the elf for another moment. “So, then, we’re just going to sit here awkwardly in silence the rest of the ride home, and pretend that we weren’t just having a rather hot and heavy make-out session?”

Fenris’ arms tightened around himself.“Yes,” he muttered.

Dorian thought. There were many things that he wanted to say, but he respectfully held his tongue. Sighing, he turned to look out his own window as they rode home awkwardly in silence.

 


	10. Wintersend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fenris, you can do anything you want with me. I won’t say no.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't originally planning on writing the sex scene that appears in this chapter, but Kleineganz said something a while ago about Fenris throwing Dorian up against a wall, so... well, that had to happen. ;)
> 
> Are you all seriously still reading this? WOAH. Thanks for hanging in there - next chapter wraps up the story!

For Wintersend, Dorian Pavus wore white.

Nearly everyone else wore dark formal wear, so Dorian stood out in the crowd. That was why Fenris’ eyes kept returning to the man.

Wasn’t it?

Krem shadowed Dorian as the enchanter made his way through the crowd.

Maevaris Tilani smiled broadly at him and kissed his cheek. “Merry Wintersend, darling! You know, I have to say that white suits your complexion. You should wear it more often.”

“I didn’t realize you were back in Qarinus, Mae, or I would have delivered the invitation myself.”

“Oh, no worries, honeyheart. No one ever leaves me off the guest list.” Her lucid eyes fell on Krem. “Back from vacation already? You do look well-rested.”

Krem gave Dorian an inquisitive glance.

“Just a bit of a joke, Cremisius,” Dorian explained. “But, since you’re here, Mae, I ought to tell you. Fenris has given me a list of maleficars that were hiding in your circle. I’m going to do something terribly unspeakable to them.”

Mae hummed at him over the rim of her uplifted glass. “If they have ties to the Venatori, then we might be able to get the Inquisition to help.”

Since he’d left Skyhold, Dorian hadn’t asked the Inquisitor for anything. “That might not be a bad idea,” he said. “If necessary, I’ll write to Leliana. We’ll see.”

From across the room, Fenris watched Dorian talking to Magister Tilani. Then, when Dorian’s gaze found him, the enchanter’s expression softened into one of unmistakeable longing.

Fenris averted his eyes.

Dorian circulated. Near the bar, he ran into his parents. By his mother’s fretting, something was spoiling – or about to spoil – the party. “Is something wrong, Mother?”

“These men of yours, the Chargers,” Aquinea complained. “The Qunari is frightening our guests. The dwarf blew up one of the rose trellises on the veranda. And there’s a man passed out drunk underneath the dessert table.”

Dorian choked down a laugh. Keeping his tone somber, he said, “I will take care of it, Mother.”

“Good boy.”

Listening to Skinner complain about all the rich shems at the party, Fenris’ eyes wandered until he found Dorian, this time talking with his parents. As Dorian moved on, his eyes fell on Fenris again from across the room, filled with that same longing.

Fenris quickly turned back to Skinner.

“Bull,” Dorian said. “My mother humbly requests that you stop scaring our guests. Oh, and apparently Grim is passed out under the dessert table. I don’t suppose you could drag him somewhere more private?”

“Sure, Boss, I’ll deal with Grim,” Bull said. Then he smirked. “Oh, and I’ll try to look less intimidating.”

Krem laughed. “Yeah, Chief. Why don’t you try tying some pretty colored bows around your horns? That might work.”

“Nah, I was thinking flowers. So I can smell as pretty as I look.”

 _“That_ would be a nice change,” Dorian drawled.

“All right. I’ll go move Grim,” he said. “Hey, Boss – you want me to come back so I can make another pass at you?”

Dorian wasn’t sure how he’d feel if Bull ever _stopped_ trying to sleep with him. Relieved? Disappointed? Unwanted?

Dorian cleared his throat, then mumbled, “As if anything I could say would stop you.”

Bull grinned. “Then I’ll see you and that fine, tight ass of yours later, Boss.”

Fenris was half-listening to Rocky and Stitches talking about the merits of various Tevinter vintages and watching Dorian moving through the crowd, when Dorian’s eyes found him once more from across the room.

Again with longing.

Fenris quickly turned away.

“Isabela! Your ship’s finally in port, then? My, you do get around.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Oh, that’s what all the sailors say.”

“Funny. I thought they all said ‘Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum, oh damn – I have scurvy’.”

The musicians changed their tune. When Fenris saw Dorian again, it was in the center of the ballroom. Dorian and his daughter were dancing. Yet they weren’t performing the proper steps of the court dance – instead they were improvising, each move becoming progressively more silly. And as they danced, they both laughed, clearly having a wonderful time.

Dorian was beautiful when he laughed, flashing perfect white teeth. And beautiful was the way he looked tonight, the white a striking contrast with his dark hair and bronze skin.

_Skin that tastes like sand and fire._

Near Dorian, Krem was also dancing with Isabela. Except that they weren’t following the proper steps, either. Instead, they were just swaying slowly to the music, Isabela’s body pressed so close to Krem’s that their movements were almost obscene.

Fenris was standing in a corner alone, a drink in hand, still watching Dorian when Bull came to stand next to him.

“You know,” Bull said knowingly, “instead of undressing him with your eyes, you might want to try your hands. That would be a lot more fun.”

Fenris growled. “I wasn’t...” he began, but the look on Bull’s face told him that the Qunari was not going to buy any denials. “Ugh.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

Fenris’ response was sword-slash quick. “No.”

Bull looked at him for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his tone was gentle. “Look, Ghost. You had a shitty past, I get that. But you obviously have feelings for the guy. Yeah, he fits every category of thing-that-hurt-you-and-made-you-hate. But despite that, he’s still one of the good guys. Other than Krem, he was the only ‘Vint that fought with the Inquisition. Yeah, he’s a magister now, but only because he could find no other way to change things. Now he’s changing things. I know you think that all men are weak, and that he’s gonna give in to using blood magic. But he’s no Danarius, and you know it.”

Fen silently mulled that over.

Bull watched the elf think. Then he added, “I’m not telling you what to do. Or how to feel. But maybe – for your own sake – it’s time you stopped letting your hate color everything and everyone you see.”

Fenris continued to chew on what the Qunari had said. “You... may have a point.”

“Good. You think about it.” Bull smirked. “Now I gotta go stroke Dorian’s ego a bit. Damn thing’s huge – requires lots of attention. But try not to get too jealous if I make him blush again.”

***

It had been a lovely party. Dorian had enjoyed spending time with Alex. And Krem had finally loosened up and had a few drinks with some of the Chargers, so Dorian had been entertained while listening to them reminisce about some of their wilder and stranger jobs. At least until Isabela had dragged Krem off to somewhere more private.

Fenris had been notably absent at that point. Perhaps that was for the best, though. Dorian was certain that letting Fenris kiss him in the carriage yesterday had been a bad idea. The elf was clearly conflicted, and Dorian wasn’t particularly fond of sexual frustration. Not to mention how embarrassing it was that Fenris had made him moan like a whore.

He’d kicked off boots and socks and was just unlacing his shirt when a soft knock came upon the door.

He called for them to come in. He just assumed it was one of the elven slaves.

He was half right. An elf, but not a slave.

Fenris.

That was a surprise.

Dorian worked at the buttons on his cuffs as casually as he could. “Yes, Fenris?”

“I...” Fenris began. Then he stopped to consider the bedroom door briefly before he softly closed it. His green eyes slid back to Dorian. “Do you want me?”

Dorian vaguely wondered if there could be a more awkward situation than this, being alone in his bedroom with Fenris asking him _that_ question. “Do I...? I mean... I...” _Ugh._ Maker, he was so flustered he was literally stammering. He swallowed to regain control of his voice. He lightened his tone. “Why do you ask?”

Green eyes cut, blade-sharp and serious as an assassin. “Because I want to know how you feel about me.”

 _Feelings now? Really? Super ugh._ “How I... feel?”

Fenris crept closer, crossing half the room. “Yes. How you feel.”

 _Ugh ugh ugh._ No, Dorian wasn’t comfortable with any of this. “Perhaps we could... discuss this later?”

Fenris closed the distance between them. So close they were almost touching. “No. Now.”

Dorian took an instinctive step back. He could feel the heat rising in his face. “This isn’t exactly fair. It’s late, I’ve had too much wine, that party was absolutely exhausting, and...”

Dorian trailed off. He’d forgotten whatever he’d meant to say as Fenris’ eyes were now burning a hole straight into his soul, stealing his breath.

“Dorian.”

When Fenris spoke his name for the first time, in that sexy, deep voice of his, the one that would make you drop your pants faster than you could say _Andraste’s flaming knickers_ , Dorian actually _trembled._

 _Oh Maker, I’m a schoolboy again._ _How is it possible that he’s having this effect on me?_

He had to swallow hard to get his voice working again. “I... won’t... take advantage.”

Fenris stepped forward again, green eyes blazing with the fire of determination. “I am offering.”

Dorian’s breath hitched.

Fenris. Offering himself. Resistance was futile.

Dorian had to steel his nerve to speak. “I do want you. I just... it feels... Well, you were a slave. You were _my_ slave. I don’t want it to be out of any sense of obligation. I don’t want it to be... _weird._ ”

Fenris waited, his eyes still puncturing a hole into Dorian’s soul.

Dorian glanced away. Thought about the time he’d had sex with Fenris. He laughed weakly. “That night in Nessum... I felt terrible, and yet so happy.”

Fenris’ voice was a low murmur near his ear. “I felt the same way.”

Dorian lifted his gaze to Fenris’ face. And found the perfect adjective to describe him – he was lovely. “Have you... been with anyone? Since then?”

“No.”

 _Well, okay then._ “In that case, perhaps it would be better if you and I would just –”

 _Take things slow_ , is what Dorian had been about to say, at least until Fenris swooped in and kissed him.

Great Maker. Actual swooping.

***

It was nothing like the night in Nessum. Fenris, aggressive in his need, pushed him up against the wall, pinning Dorian’s hands as he ravished the enchanter’s mouth with his own.

Firm lips. Hot breath. Sharp teeth and dancing tongue.

Maker, he was delicious. Wine and sunshine. The way Fenris was kissing him felt so good. Dorian decided that he didn’t really care that he was moaning into the elf’s mouth again like a whore.

The elf finally released his wrists, so Dorian slid his hands in Fenris’ hair again, this time letting his fingers follow the curves to the points of Fenris’ ears. Elves commonly had extremely sensitive ears, and Dorian knew that Fenris was no exception. In Fenris’ throat, a small noise of pleasure.

Fenris slipped his own hands down Dorian’s chest as his tongue licked up the length of Dorian’s neck.

“Fenris,” he gasped as Fenris pressed his thigh between Dorian’s legs and started grinding wantonly against him.

Fingers curved into Dorian’s hips. Fenris’ sexy purr was so hot it nearly melted Dorian’s ear off. “Want you,” he murmured. “Can I fuck you?”

If he wasn’t hard before, Dorian certainly was hard now. A demanding, throbbing, painful kind of hard. That sinful voice sexily murmuring _that_ question – Maker, if he’d been fifteen years younger he would have just come in his pants.

Dorian sighed into Fenris’ ear. “Fenris, you can do anything you want with me. I won’t say no.”

In response, the elf quivered. Then Fenris drew back to look at him, green eyes already hazed with lust. “Take off your shirt.”

“Maker, you really are bossy,” Dorian teased, but he was already eagerly hurrying to comply.

Dorian let Fenris push him back against the wall again, and then he started moaning softly as Fenris started kissing, licking and biting a trail from his ear down his chest.

Dorian was accustomed to taking the lead in bed. But he liked how Fenris was taking control. Aggressive. Rough. Hungry for him. Which – given Fenris’ past history – was unexpected.

Dorian sucked in his breath as Fenris’ tongue flickered across his nipple.

Followed by teeth.

On second thought, Fenris wanting to be in control made perfect sense.

Once on his knees, Fenris reached for the laces on Dorian’s pants. Dorian trembled again as Fenris slipped his hand inside, freeing him from the confines of his small clothes. Holding Dorian steady with one hand, he leaned forward. His intention was obvious.

Dorian wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of Fenris sucking his cock. From the stories he’d heard, in the last few years, Danarius had generously let just about anyone make use of Fenris’ mouth. So he assumed that there was no way that Fenris could possibly enjoy it.

“Fenris,” Dorian murmured, “ you don’t have to do tha–”

_Oh gods._

Fenris’ mouth was so hot. His tongue was dancing again, when he wasn’t actually sucking. He alternated between the two. He knew _when_ to alternate. Maker, he was really good at this. Dorian was a little disturbed about the reason why he was so good at this, but by the little noises of pleasure Fenris was making, and the way he did it – with enthusiastic abandon – he clearly didn’t _hate_ it.

Of course, he wasn’t enjoying it half as much as Dorian. Who swore when Fenris brought him to the brink of an orgasm and then abruptly withdrew.

“Ugh, I hate you,” Dorian muttered as Fenris rose to his feet. Flash of sly smile on the elf’s face before he thumped Dorian against the wall again, plundering his mouth once more.

They were both breathless when Fenris broke off the kiss, purring into Dorian’s ear, making him tremble again. “Do you want it against the wall? Or in the bed?”

Both of those options sounded marvelous. But, really, they’d barely started. “What, right now?” he teased. “Are you in a hurry or something?”

Fenris reached down, grabbing Dorian by the ass, and pulled the mage close so their hips ground together. “Yes.” His voice was a husky growl. “But we can slow down during the next round, if you wish.”

Dorian was suddenly even more breathless. _The next round?_ Maker, was this elf planning on fucking him all night long? He hoped so. “There’s some... ah... lubricant... by the bed.”

Fenris dragged him over to the bed. Pushed him roughly down on it, then yanked Dorian’s pants and small clothes off before undressing himself.

Dorian leaned back on his elbows, watching greedily as Fenris revealed more and more skin. Then reached for the container of grease he kept in the bedside table drawer.

Fenris took it. Sniffed at it curiously. “It smells like you,” he noted. Then his gaze sharpened. “Wait, is this the same shit you use on your _hair_?”

Dorian smiled. “It’s effective for both purposes.”

Fenris decided that he could think about how odd that was later. Now, he had more pressing matters.

Dorian made a soft noise of approval as Fenris spread open his legs and settled between them. Then he made the same noise again as Fenris’ fingers began pushing into him.

Impatient and rather rough fingers, which brought a question to mind. “Fenris? I... don’t mean to be a wet rag, but... have you actually done this before? Been on top, I mean.”

Fenris stilled his hand. “Yes,” he said. “Once. Though it was a long time ago.”

Dorian cleared his throat. “That’s not... entirely reassuring.”

“Then guide me.”

“Just... slow down, please. It’s been quite a while since I’ve taken this role.”

That meant that Fenris now knew Dorian’s role with Rilienus. Which was more information than he needed. Still, the fact that Rilienus was the one taking it up the ass was somehow better than if the roles had been reversed.

Fenris moved his hand again. This time with more care.

Below him, Dorian’s breath gradually became unsteady.

Dorian wanted it. Fenris inside him. He ached – absolutely ached – for it. If this elf didn’t take him soon, he would probably lose his mind. “Please, Fenris... _now._ ”

Fenris shifted. Then began to slowly sink in until he was immersed deep in the heat of the enchanter’s body.

Dorian made a strange noise.

Fenris tried to read the expression on Dorian’s face. Pain? Pleasure? Both? “Am I hurting you?”

“No... I... uh... Maker, just _move_ already.”

Fenris began to move.

If someone had asked him to describe how that felt, Fenris wouldn’t have been able to do so. It felt... beyond-words wonderful. Like he’d been born to fuck Dorian Pavus.

Dorian writhed below him, fingers clutching the bedsheets.

A slight shift in the angle of his hips and Dorian convulsed around him as if he’d been hit with an electricity spell. “Maker, _yes._ ”

Fenris remained at that angle. Each thrust wrested another moan of pleasure from the mage’s throat. And his face – Andraste’s tits, Dorian’s face, smeared with pleasure, was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. Fenris felt strangely proud to be the cause of it.

“Dorian...”

Dorian gasped. “Fenris... please... touch me...”

Hand slipping down. “Here?”

A curse, half-strangled in his throat. Fenris thrusting inside him, with his hand now furiously stroking... Maker, it was almost more pleasure than a man could possibly stand.

Fenris leaned down, his lips brushing against Dorian’s ear, issuing a command. “Come for me, Dorian.”

Fenris’ rich, luscious voice purring into his ear again completely unmade him.

Another strangled cry and he was gone, lost to ecstasy. Drowning in it. Barely aware of Fenris growling as he throbbed his own release.

Barely aware of the elf collapsing on top of him after.

Eventually Dorian became aware of the weight on top of him. Fenris was still rather lanky, but much of his mass was muscle, which meant that he was heavy. “Fenris?” he ventured. “You’re as comfortable as a sack of stones.”

Fenris grunted. Then rolled off Dorian, falling limp and boneless to the bed.

Dorian turned over, throwing an arm about the elf. For a while, they lay together in the silence, each man thinking his own thoughts.

Eventually, though, Fenris leaned up on one elbow, looking down at Dorian, a coy smile fluttering at the edge of his lips.

“So,” Fenris murmured. “Ready for round two?”

 


	11. Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Fenris must make a decision about their future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MONSTER BIG THANKS to everyone who read this story, especially those who have been commenting all along! 
> 
> There will be one more story in this series. And because I am a bit of a jerk, the last scene in this story is a teaser for the next story. With a small (no, really, nothing major!) cliffhanger. 
> 
> May Andraste smile kindly upon you.

Dorian woke up the next morning alone.

He’d fallen asleep with Fenris in his arms, which meant that the elf had slipped out at some point while Dorian was sleeping, leaving only rumpled sheets behind. The only sign of what Fenris had done to him last night. That, and the post-tumble state of his hair.

Dorian smiled to himself as he recalled how Fenris had entwined his fingers in it, pulling deliciously while Dorian sucked his lovely elven cock.

Leisurely he rose, washed and dressed before heading downstairs.

He found Krem on the veranda. Beside him, Isabela lounged in her chair, booted feet resting in Krem’s lap. Dorian, ignoring the stab of envy at this picture of domestic harmony, sat down and reached for the coffee pot.

The weather was glorious, unusually warm for the season. In the field, Alex and Cynarel were playing Dead Man.

With the Chargers.

On second glance, it wasn’t Dead Man, but something similar. “Cremisius – what are they playing?”

“Kick the can. It’s a Qunari game.”

Dorian watched as Bull ran up, then kicked the can in question with a loud bellow.

The other players scattered.

Dorian’s eye fell on Fenris.

There had been a second round last night. As promised, Fenris had slowed things down, languidly teasing Dorian with his hands and mouth – a favor Dorian had enthusiastically returned – until Dorian, unable to resist any longer, had shamelessly begged Fenris to take him again. Against the wall this time.

As Dorian leered at Fenris, the elf looked up and saw him.

A sly smile curled the elf’s lips briefly before he turned his attention back to the game.

“Oh, my,” Isabela drawled. “ _That_ was quite a look. And you! You’re glowing, you know. Whatever that lanky elf did to you last night must have been good.”

Krem cocked a curious eyebrow at him. “Chief? You and the elf?”

“Ah... entirely his idea, Cremisius.”

Krem hummed thoughtfully. Given the way the two men had spent the entire party exchanging looks, Krem wasn’t really surprised.

Still, he’d seen Dorian in this particular mood before – any time he’d descended the stairs of the Veilfire Inn.

“Chief?” Kren said carefully. “Aren’t the Chargers leaving soon?”

Dorian’s smile faded. For a moment he just stared at Fenris.

Thinking.

He was brutally honest with himself. It would be for the best if he let Fenris walk out of his life again. After all, they’d had their fun. Fenris was a Tevinter, too, so he knew how things were here between two men. He couldn’t possibly want more than that. Especially since Dorian was not only a magister, but his ex-master, as well. Dorian wasn’t such a fool to not realize that Fenris must have derived some perverse satisfaction in having Dorian beneath him. Claiming him. Making him submit. That’s all it really was.

Wasn’t it?

Except... he didn’t like the idea of never touching Fenris again. Or never – _Maker, he’s so lovely_ – being able to just look at him.

Dorian made a decision. Probably a foolish one.

He forced a smile as he turned back to Krem. “That reminds me... there is a matter I do need to discuss with Bull.” Standing, he called out to the field. “Bull!”

Bull stopped, straightened, and gave Dorian a salute.

“I’d like to speak with you,” Dorian said. “And bring Fenris.”

***

Dorian leaned against the desk in his father’s office. Considered one man, then the other. Bull was straight-backed again, ready for business. Fenris stood stiffly as well, eyes guarded, waiting.

That was the inherent power of the office – everyone on edge.

“So, Bull,” Dorian said conversationally. “When are you leaving Qarinus?”

“Tomorrow,” Bull revealed. “We gotta be somewhere for a job. Should be profitable.”

_Tomorrow? Well, okay, then. Now or never._

Dorian crossed his arms, letting one hand flutter near his chin as he spoke. “I didn’t want to say this is front of Krem, but, after what happened with Bricio, I could use another bodyguard. And I’d like it to be Fenris.”

A muscle in Fenris’ jaw twitched.

Bull glanced at the elf. “Ghost’s a good choice,” he agreed. “Still, he’s the lieutenant of my Chargers. He’s kinda necessary.” Bull paused. “Surely you got someone in the barracks who could serve.”

Dorian made a vague gesture with his uplifted hand. “Yes, even so, I need Fenris to stay. To testify against some maleficars in front of the Templars.” Dorian’s gaze fell on Fenris. “Which he already agreed to do.”

Bull crossed his own arms. _Damn mage – no shame in trying to steal_ both _my lieutenants._ His gaze shifted between the two men, trying to get a read on them. Then he rumbled a noise of resignation. “Yeah, you can have him.”

Fenris’ head whipped around, his eyes blazing. “What?!”

Bull chuckled. “Ghost, you’re a free man now, so you can do whatever you want. But if you want to stay here and give it a shot, then I’m not going to stop you.”

In response, Fenris grunted.

“‘Sides, we are talking about Dorian. Don’t tell me you don’t want to guard that body.” He grinned lewdly. “Maybe guard it all night long like you were doing last night?”

Fenris’ eyes widened. Then he averted his gaze, awkwardly clearing his throat before he mumbled, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The Qunari cocked an eyebrow at him. “What? You think Dalish and Skinner didn’t notice that someone didn’t come back to the slave quarters last night?”

Fenris felt his face grow hot. “I... uh...”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Bull. You’re not helping.”

Bull’s grin was positively salacious. “Maybe not, but you boys are smokin’ hot, so I am having fun thinking about it. Just tell me, though, who was the one takin’ it.”

 _Ugh._ Now Dorian was awkwardly clearing his own throat. “Really none of your business!”

“Fine,” Bull relented. He then sauntered across the room, stopping at the door. “I’ll leave you two to talk. Or...” – grin – “...whatever.”

As the door shut, Fenris and Dorian looked at each other.

“You’re asking me to stay,” Fenris said slowly.

Dorian’s fingers absentmindedly smoothed over his mustache. “I believe I just said so,” he said lightly. “But I can repeat it, if you prefer. Yes, I am asking you to stay.”

_To leave the Chargers... to stay in Tevinter with Dorian and Krem..._

“I...” Fenris began, and faltered. “This is... sudden.”

“I know, but...” Dorian trailed off.

Fenris filled in. “But you need me to testify.”

“Yes, well, that’s true,” Dorian admitted. _Just tell him._   “But I was going to say that... the truth of the matter is that I want you, Fenris.”

The look Fenris gave him was cool. “Oh?”

“Yes. At my back. And, if you wish it – and I very much hope you wish it – in my bed.”

Fenris’ eyes narrowed. “You want me to be your lover?”

Given Fenris’ expression, Dorian had apparently not only kicked a puppy again, but had set it on _fire._ “Is that so strange?”

“You realize I’m not the same man who was your slave.”

Dorian snorted a soft laugh. “Yes, _that_ was glaringly obvious from the very first moment you arrived,” he said. He studied Fenris for a moment. Then: “So... do you want to, as Bull put it, give it a shot?”

Fenris glanced away, eyes unfocused, thinking. Several moments slipped by before he turned back to Dorian, his gaze still cool. “What about Rilienus?”

“Rilienus?” Dorian began, then grimaced. “Actually, we’re no longer... together.”

Fenris’ gaze drifted again as he considered that.

Then he turned back to Dorian. Took a few steps to close the distance between them. Placing his hands on the desk at either side of Dorian’s hips, he then leaned forward

Dorian let Fenris have his mouth. Savored the taste of Fenris as the elf kissed him once, languidly and deeply.

“As nice as that was...” Dorian murmured breathlessly as Fenris pulled away, “If that was your answer, then it was rather... ambiguous.”

Green eyes glittered.

“I will stay,” Fenris said. “But on one condition...”

***

_9:45 Dragon Molioris_

Just after Summerday that year, the weather in Minrathous turned hot.

Varania Thanos arrived punctually, in the early afternoon, at House Prasinus.

Since Danarius’ death nearly four years ago, Varania had been seeking a new magister to take her on as an apprentice. She had briefly worked for a Magister Caelinus, but that hadn’t panned out, and she’d had no decent prospects since then. At least until she’d received a note from Magister Prasinus, requesting her presence.

What she knew about Varian Prasinus, other than his positions in the Circle and the Magisterium: he was from one of Minrathous’ most prestigious families, somewhat eccentric in his tastes, but with great magical skill, despite his young age of thirty-five. An elitist.

A human doorman let her in, bidding her to leave her staff in the foyer and follow him.

He led her through a grand mansion – the largest, most elegant house she had ever seen. Which, after having lived in Danarius’ house – the epitome of decadent luxury – was really saying something.

At the end of a wide corridor, the servant opened a door to the right, and ushered her into a sitting room.

One wall was lined with shelves of books surrounding an unlit fireplace. Arranged before the fireplace were two armchairs, each occupied by a man.

One man was dark-skinned, dark-haired, and was wearing the dark robes of a magister. She had never seen him before.

The other man was fair-skinned, with bright red hair, and wearing form-fitting armor of black hide and thin metal plates. _He_ looked vaguely familiar. She was sure that she had seen him before somewhere. She just couldn’t remember where.

“Varania, I take it?” said the magister. “My name is Pavus. I have a companion who would like to speak to you.”

 _Magister Pavus._ She knew him by name, of course – one of the most powerful men in the magisterium, despite his age and the fact that he was infamously anti-blood magic.

But what sent her heart skittering was a different rumor she’d heard about the man: that he was now her brother’s new owner.

The magister’s eyes flicked up, looking at something over her shoulder. Whirling about, she saw the white-haired elf step out of the shadows. “Fenris...?”

Green eyes blazed with fury. “You betrayed me,” he growled. “Your own brother. To become a magister.”

Varania flinched back. “You have no idea what it was like after you freed mother and me,” she said quickly. “What I had to do since Mother died. It was my only chance.”

Fenris advanced, his markings alight. “And now you have no chance at all!”

Varania cast a desperate glance at Dorian. “Please, tell him to stop!”

Dorian, remained still, his hands folded in his lap, indifferent. “I’m afraid you’re begging the wrong man, my dear. This is not my choice.”

She turned back to Fenris, magic crackling in her hands, ready to defend.

But it was too late.

Fenris struck out, plunging his lyrium ghost fist into her chest. Fingers materialized as they seized her heart. And then she cried once as he ripped it out.

Her body slumped to the ground, revealing Fenris, chest heaving and gaze murderous, as he considered his sister’s heart, dripping blood and still beating in his hand.

After a moment, Fenris extinguished his markings. Then he let her heart fall to the floor beside her limp body, into the slowly seeping pool of blood.

Dorian and Krem both leaped from their chairs, and rushed to his side.

Krem peered into his face, his brow furrowed with concern. “Fenris...? You okay?”

Fenris considered his sister’s dead body. _Her betrayal._ “I feel... unclean.”

From within his robes, Dorian withdrew a handkerchief. Taking Fenris gently by the wrist, he proceeded to wipe the blood from the elf’s hand. “There, good as new,” Dorian said once his task was complete. “Which is more than I can say about the carpet.”

Fenris cast him a sidelong glance. “You’re an odd man, Dorian.”

Dorian smiled. “You like that I’m odd,” he said. “You find it endearing.”

“True,” Fenris admitted. Then he frowned. “Let’s go. I need to get out of here.”

They spilled onto the streets. Headed away from the Prasinus residence and out of the Gilded Quarter. Soon they had skirted the elf slums and were headed towards Vivazzi Plaza.

At first, they walked without speaking, giving Fenris space to brood about what had just happened. It had taken three months for Dorian to find his sister, and therefore fulfill Fenris’ condition. Fenris had started to think that he would never have his revenge.

But now he had. A piece of the past he could put behind him. Danarius was dead. Hadriana was dead. Varania was dead. Did that mean he could finally move on?

Eventually Krem made an innocuous remark. Soon, Krem and Dorian were engaging in their usual banter. Fenris, still silent, listened. As he listened, he felt as though a weight were lifting, that his heart was becoming light. Then, despite himself, he was smiling. Dorian and Krem were laughing, the sun was shining, and even Minrathous didn’t seem so dirty or terrible.

Vivazzi Plaza was crowded as they turned into it, heading towards home. Where Dorian had waiting a celebratory bottle of Rowan’s Rose.

Dorian smiled at him, his gray eyes sword-blade bright in the late afternoon light.

Fenris realized that he was happy. That this moment was perfect. That everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.

Then Fenris and Krem noticed a strange thing almost simultaneously.

There was a man in the crowd, dressed in mage robes. Strange because his face was hidden by an elaborate Orlesian mask.

He lifted and aimed his staff.

Straight at Dorian.

 


End file.
